The Dark Wars: Empire's Rebirth
by Marquis Black
Summary: The Empire has fallen. The ancient British capital is in ruins...its forces, scattered across the globe in disarray. Amidst the ruins of the old and the flames of total war, can Harry and his men forge a new British Empire? AU. Third in a series! COMPLETE
1. Chapter I: Five Years Later

AN: And so begins the newest installment of the Dark Wars series! Enjoy!

By the by, to all my still-skeptical readers concerning Harry's fighting skill (previously expounded in the second installment), let me just say this: you were forewarned of his skill previous to the demonstration. Read the vignettes carefully where you can. Sometimes, they provide foreshadowing clues.

Cheers,

Marquis Black

* * *

From atop the observation tower, Harry James Potter, General of the British Armed Forces, and Warlord of the Northern Loyalist Britannic Forces (NLBF), watched as a seagull flew past his flagship, the _HMIS Retaliation_. 

To his right, Harry could see the second of his three-Assault Ship fleet, the _HMIS Assaye_. Shortly after the young Potter heir had learned of the trap that had been set up for him in northern Canada, he'd turned the _Retaliation_ around and, leaving only a skeleton crew to manage the _Purity_, he had his ship sail at full speed towards Britain, only to meet up with the only other Assault Ship built midway.

It had been there where he learned of the Empire's fall.

The young general had been devastated upon hearing the news of the Royal Family's execution, but had maintained his cool until he heard about the fate of his family.

No contact, presumed dead.

For the next few weeks, the survivor fleet was relegated to the command of Captain Wolf, the senior member of the group as Harry locked himself up in his room, depressed and devastated on every level at the news of his family's apparent death.

Neville, Susan, and the rest of his mates from both Hogwarts and the Army tried to get through to him, but the door's electronic lock, a very powerful shield, and total fear of his wrath kept them from trying to force their way in (the memory of his single-handed defeat of a room full of Death Eaters was still very fresh amongst his men).

Thankfully, after the fourth week of this condition, Harry had come out of his room, wearing a tear-stained uniform and a rather unbecoming, scraggly beard. No one had attempted to speak to him as he walked down the corridor and into a random bunkroom, where he softly asked for someone to shave his beard and trim his hair.

An hour or so later, he'd walked up to the bridge, forgoing the elevator in the process, and asked for command of the fleet. Wolf, upon seeing his commanding officer, had looked relieved and happily turned over command to the younger man. All throughout the ships, cheering had broken out at the news that Harry would be once more taking command.

That had been five years ago.

Now, the 23 year old General (who'd been voted up to Field Marshall by his men) was on his way to conduct yet another raid on Death Eater strongholds.

Harry turned his attention to his left, where he could see the final piece of his Assault Ship fleet, the newly refitted _HMIS Redemption_, whose original name had been the _Purity_.

Keeping the _Redemption_ had been initially hard on Harry's forces, as the ship was damaged, and there was not enough men to crew all three ships successfully. Sure, in terms of numbers, he did have the manpower, but most of those men were army soldiers, not engineers, or Navy servicemen, or even pilots.

That problem had been solved somewhat quickly, even by Harry's standards.

It turned out that the crew of the _Assaye_ intercepted a distress call from a former Imperial Navy base in the northern islands of Canada. They were apparently under attack and all available ships had already scrambled out of the area.

Determined to save whatever he could of his beloved Empire, Harry immediately ordered the three ships to evacuate the base. However, what was supposed to be a quick and easy evacuation operation quickly turned into a full battle as the evacuation troops were caught in the fire fight below, forcing Harry to order the ships to move in to support the ground troops.

Thus, amid craterous blasts from the three ships' combined Behemoth-Class cannons and the ground troops' superior firepower (thanks to the Griffin Mk 2 Rifle), the base was eventually evacuated, with mild losses.

Upon meeting with Harry, the commander of the base, one Commodore William Hawke, of thirty-two years of age, gratefully thanked the younger man and officially put himself and his men, all 2,000 of them, under Harry's command. With that, Harry was able to equip the _Redemption_ with a full crew, although several engineers and crew members from the _Retaliation_ and _Assaye_ had to be transferred to it to evenly distribute the men.

Similar operations had become routine for the first year or so, with Harry's makeshift fleet rushing from one area to the next in the northern areas, rescuing Imperial servicemen and women. At one point, he'd even deployed his fleet to save a small town in British Columbia who'd rebelled against the new Dark authorities. That particular operation had gone forward despite the protests of his senior officers, all of whom had been promoted at Harry's whim.

Nevertheless, the rescue operation had gone through, and the village had been evacuated onto the ships. The townsfolk had not been part of those with knowledge of the Empire, however, and had been dumbstruck at seeing the arrival of the giant flying ships and finding out about the existence of magic. Some of the townsfolk had become initially mutinous at that point, but after a short talk (or rather, almost deadly shouting match) between the soldiers and the mutinous townsfolk, they had subsided.

Finding them a home had been quite the task, too, as Harry had no idea of any place not under the thumb of the Death Eaters, or sympathetic to the Empire. He'd quickly resolved that issue when he found a small, uncharted archipelago in the middle of the Atlantic. Not big enough to be mapped, but big enough to support a small base, which he immediately set the townsfolk to build with the materials he'd salvaged from both the bases he'd rescued and the town they'd come from. The base had been finally finished after a couple of more material raids and was now known to all of Harry's faction as New Britannia. To his dismay, however, the entire faction, minus him, voted to name the capital town "Harrisburg" in his honour.

Eventually, as the years went past, the town had grown substantially with the arrival of more and more Canadian and British refugees that Harry's fleet rescued from either towns under siege or Death Eater concentration camps. One particular prisoner rescue ended up with him being informed that London had been burned to the ground, with not a single building left standing, and had instead been replaced by an all-Wizard community.

London, that particular refugee told him, now resembled an old, Edwardian-age city.

The news had saddened Harry, of course, as well as everyone in the fleet, but they'd quickly learned to accept the fact that there was nothing they could do about it. With Britain under Death Eater control, the odds were that they'd begun rebuilding their lost fleet to fully tighten their hold on the British Isles, which was their primary concern.

It was also the reason why Harry could operate so freely in Canada and the Atlantic. The fact that the Death Eaters were obsessed with maintaining full control of Britain had meant that Canada and the rest of the British possessions were far less under their control, which was why Harry had managed to somewhat carve a sphere of influence in the north.

His particular "holdings," so to speak, included much of Newfoundland, Nova Scotia, and Prince Edward Island, as well as the small archipelago in the middle of the Atlantic. Of course, his holdings were only nominally so, as he fought a battle with the Death Eaters nearly every other day for control of the Canadian territories.

In fact, it was for that same reason why Harry and his three-ship fleet were on their way to perform a raid.

"Your Grace," called a voice from behind Harry. The young Potter heir turned to meet the now-Admiral Hawke, who was standing at attention in his midnight blue, Victorian-age Navy uniform.

"Yes, Admiral?" replied Harry.

Hawke tipped his hat in salute to Harry with a slight bow. "The fortress will be within range in less than thirty minutes. We should have a visual of the target within ten," reported the fair-haired admiral.

Harry nodded. "Beat to quarter, Admiral. See to it that we are ready to open fire as soon as we are in range," he ordered softly. Hawke nodded stiffly and bowed.

"As you wish, Your Grace," he intoned, before spinning on his heel and leaving the observation deck.

Harry sighed as soon as the Admiral had left. He was still unused to his newly appointed title of Duke, which had been bestowed upon him by the people of his faction two years ago, during a memorial celebration they'd held in honour of the British Empire.

During that particular celebration, they'd convened in the midst of the celebrations and formally informed him of the fact that he'd been popularly titled Duke of Halifax, in honour of a particularly decisive victory he'd pulled off at that former city's location.

Even now, three years later, he still wasn't used to being addressed as "Your Grace".

Harry sighed once more as he watched the sea rush by before turning and leaving the observation deck.

He had a raid to conduct, after all.

"The target, gentlemen," announced Harry to his audience of officers, "is a small, coastline fortress the Death Eaters built on the shores of New Brunswick, here," he pointed at a particular spot on the map.

"The fortress, as your briefing folders should have told you, is located at the closest point across the channel from Nova Scotia, and thus within range of our shoreline facilities in that area, since they possess several confiscated Leviathan cannons."

"Yes?" asked Harry as he noticed a hand come up. It was one of the fighter plane Wing Commanders.

"What will be the function of the Air Force in this raid?" asked the man. "I mean, it seems to me that we can pull this off by simply firing off the Behemoths from a safe distance."

Several mumbles of agreement could be heard as Harry raised his hand for silence.

"Though your observation would be normally correct," answered Harry, "we cannot afford to cause any such damage in this operation."

"Why not, Your Grace?" asked another, this one a Commander in the Navy.

Harry nodded to the crewmember in charge of the holographic display and a map of the fortress soon came up to replace the region map. Harry now pointed his pointer at a particular structure.

"This, gentlemen, is the fortress' brig. In it are several important refugees which we must free at all costs," he told them. Another nod got him several headshots coming up on the holographic display. "These are the known prisoners within the brig."

Harry pointed at the first one. "This is Doctor Eugene Hale, a renowned British physician whom the Death Eaters have under the Imperius to conduct biophysical experiments,"

He pointed to another. "This is Henry Kraft, a notable engineer that helped in the building of Launch Base One, during Project Archangel,"

He pointed to another. "Professor Emily Jenkins, one of Project Archangel's theoretical masterminds."

Another point. "James Orwell, a guardsman from Buckingham Palace whom the Death Eaters have put under Imperius to promote pro-Death Eater propaganda."

This time, he pointed to two portraits. "These two are of particular value to us, gentlemen," he told them, pleased to see his officers writing down all the names. "This first one is called William Weasley, known as Bill Weasley to everyone who knows him. He was the main magical researcher for Archangel and my wife's brother," he informed them. No one even dared to make a comment at that. They all knew how much the loss of his family had affected the Duke. "The other," he continued, pointing to the image of an older, grey-haired man, "is Doctor Frederick von Eisenheim, the creator of the Magical Energy Generator and the father of Project Archangel," he announced. Many gasps answered his statement.

"Gentlemen, the amount of Archangel scientists in this location cannot bode well for our cause. However, we will not dally and see what the enemy is plotting, but rather cut their plans off now, while we still can," he declared. "It is imperative that we rescue these people and see if any of them can tell us _anything_ about our enemy's plans."

General nodding received his statement, which made Harry look pleased.

"Good. Now, the _Retaliation_, _Assaye_, and _Redemption_ will be providing covering fire to the Air Force's fighter planes, so that the enemy's dragons are…convinced not to lift off before we want them to," he explained, among much snickering as the last observation was made. Harry pressed on regardless. "As soon as the Air Force is in the air, water transports will be launched to bring Alpha and Bravo Companies from the Seventy-Ninth Regiment onto the shore, where they will be tasked with retrieving the prisoners. The Air Force is to provide cover for the water transports."

Nods from the appropriate officers answered his orders.

"Meanwhile, elements from the Ninety-Sixth Rifles Regiment will be transported to this shoreline here," he pointed, "where a town is located a single mile inland. They are to evacuate the villagers and assist with retrieving any materials available that New Britannia might need."

More nodding.

"After prisoner and villager rescues have been performed, the _Assaye_,_Retaliation_, and _Redemption_ are to pull out of the are and head straight for New Britannia along the routes detailed by the Lyles Protocol, understood?"

More nodding.

"Good," he announced. "Then, gentlemen, get your ships and crafts ready. In fifteen minutes, we begin covering fire."

With that dismissal, his entire officer cadre got up and left the briefing room.


	2. Chapter II: Rescue Operations

AN: I was actually thinking of waiting one more day before I posted this, but it's my birthday today, and I'm in a good mood thanks to my friends. So, enjoy!

(For those of you wondering, I've just turned 21)

* * *

In his years in the Imperial Army, Douglas McIntyre never imagined ever rising above the rank of private, but fate had proved him wrong on many occasions.

The first such occasion came when he was part of the 79th Imperial Highlander Regiment in the Royal Northern Army (RNA), under the command of Lieutenant-Colonel Harry James Potter. He'd arrived at Hogwarts a private, then.

However, he was soon dispatched, alongside the rest of the army, to the north, where Colonel Potter led them against the Death Eater bastion popularly called Serpent Fortress. There, his own platoon sergeant had been killed in the final part of the engagement (a damn shame, in his opinion), and he'd been promoted to sergeant when it was found out that he'd led a flanking action that had deviated much of the Death Eaters' resistance from the front gates.

That had just been the beginning.

The second such occasion came when he was assigned to the newly formed Airfleet Corps, again under the command of Harry Potter, now a Major-General. He'd been assigned as the platoon sergeant for the 1st Platoon in the 96th Rifles, Harry Potter's previous command. While somewhat unhappy at the transfer, he soon managed to integrate himself in the rough-and-tough regiment.

However, much to his dismay, he soon found out that the 1st Platoon was also full of rookies, and so was tasked with teaching them the ropes, so to speak, of the business. By the time the _Retaliation_ had begun its fight in the skies near Canada, he'd assumed he'd done a good enough job.

And he did, as the assault on the _Purity_ soon told him.

Despite the horrible casualty rate, his men had proved themselves well, shooting and hacking and slashing their way up to the heavily defended bridge. That's where he also met his current wife, Allison. That was also the battle where he'd been promoted to Ensign, for "outstanding, suicidal courage, and honourable distinction in the midst of enemy fire," as the Major General had said it, causing much laughter in the audience and making Douglas himself chuckle. Another interpretation, as Allison had put it, was "for sheer dumb luck."

Nevertheless, Douglas had made it into the Commissioned Officer ranks, which meant a huge pay raise, and a lot more responsibility.

However, five battles later, during which he served as a subordinate to Lieutenant Macmillan, he was promoted to Lieutenant when his superior was promoted to Captain. Douglas was comfortable with his current rank, however, and truly desired no additional promotion for the time being.

Allison had, of course, been exasperated with his lack of ambition, but supported him nonetheless. Fortunately for his peace of mind, she'd transferred out of the Army and into the crew of the _Retaliation_ around the same time as he got promoted to Lieutenant, keeping her out of any immediate danger.

That, however, did not apply to him.

'Unfortunately,' he thought as he looked at his troops, who were sitting along the sides of the transport's troop hold. He personally opted to stand upright near the entrance to the cockpit, keeping himself balanced by grabbing one of the triangular leather holders that hung from the ceiling. He'd done the same in every engagement that required troop mobility.

Soon enough, the green light that indicated they would be reaching their target within ten minutes came on. Douglas nodded to himself and fastened the new copper-coloured helmets that the scientists at New Britannia had fashioned for them. He watched as his men did the same and felt proud that he no longer even had to tell them what to do. They all knew their job well.

After the men sounded off in readiness, Douglas nodded firmly and brought up his new Griffin Mk 3 Rifle, patterned after the Short Magazine Lee-Enfield Mk III.

"Alright, Gents!" he started, only to be interrupted by an outraged cry from the ten females in the company. He grinned unapologetically at them, having said it on purpose for that same reason. "And ladies, of course," he added soon after, causing the company to snicker. "You know your mission, so I _hope_ I don't need to tell you again. Now then, remember your training. What do you do when we hit the beachhead?" he asked.

"Duck, Run, and Cover!" the company yelled back.

Douglas nodded with a satisfied grin. "Right! And none of you try to pull of any heroics! We don't need you in a body bag!" he ordered them.

"Like you, sir?" called out one of his men in, causing the men to laugh. Douglas was well known among the regiment for pulling off suicidal stunts.

"Aye, like me, Evans!" answered Douglas with an easy grin. "Just get the job done, guys. No stunts, no heroics. In and out. Quick and clean."

"Sir, yes, sir!" the company called back at him.

Douglas nodded and finally, the red light that announced their arrival blared to life.

"Alright, men! Showtime! _Imperium Aevitas!_" he roared.

"_Imperium Aevitas!_" chanted the company as the back of the transport opened up, revealing the beach.

Douglas was the first man out as he charged onto the beach, his boots struggling with the sand beneath him. He immediately brought up his rifle as he saw a Death Eater finally realize that they were under attack and shot the Dark wizard in the chest before he'd been able to sound the alarm.

The charge was hard and slow as the company made its way up the beach and onto solid ground, thankful that the Death Eaters had not realized they were under attack yet. It'd been fortunate that a sea landing had been undertaken instead of an aerial one, as the water transports had been designed to be silent, and the Death Eaters were only on constant lookout for aerial attacks, due to the Assault Ships' aerial capacity.

Douglas raised a fist and the entire company stopped as they reached hard ground. Douglas looked around and noticed the entrance to the observation post where he'd shot the Death Eater. He turned and pointed to one of his platoon sergeants and made a motion for him to take the observation post. He then turned to the three other sergeants and motioned for them to follow him.

With that, Douglas moved forward, the three remaining platoons close behind, as the fourth platoon made its way into the observation post. Only when twenty loud bangs were heard did Douglas know that the observation post had been taken.

Douglas, for his part, led his group further inland, taking care to take out any passing Death Eaters and sentries. Soon enough, they reached the village they were looking for. Still, Douglas didn't order his men right into it, but rather had them hold at the outskirts, taking covering positions behind several houses' fences.

Douglas quickly took out his binoculars and scanned the surrounding area. Finding nothing, he pointed at his second Platoon sergeant and motioned for him to move forward.

The man gave a single nod and hissed the command to his men, making the 50-man platoon spring to life as they quickly went over the fences and moved towards the house. Douglas watched one of them knock on the wooden door while the others got out of view and had their rifles pointed in the door's general direction.

Soon enough, someone opened the door and, to Douglas' relief, it was one of the townswomen. She looked surprised, then relieved, and finally exhilarated as she realized that Douglas' men were Imperial soldiers.

'What a stroke of luck,' thought Douglas. 'She must be the Duke's informant."

Douglas turned and nodded to the other two sergeants who promptly had their own men go over the wooden picket fences and were soon entering their respective houses. Douglas himself went for the first house, where the woman, a relatively old lady with grey hair, looked enthused at their presence.

"Oh thank the Queen you've arrived!" she exclaimed. Douglas seemed amused at the exclamation but nodded in greetings.

"I'm Douglas McIntyre, Lieutenant in the Northern Loyalist Britannic Forces," he told her. "Are you Madame Fairbanks?"

The old lady nodded vigorously. "I've been waiting five years for this, Lieutenant," she confided in him. "Those filthy thugs have made my home practically a slave camp!" she wailed.

Douglas nodded consolingly. "We understand, ma'am. That's why we're here," he told her. He then nodded to the 1st Platoon sergeant. "Get the First moving. Hook up with Johnson and Lee. I want this town secured and ready to evacuate in thirty minutes," he ordered, taking a brief look at his watch. The prisoner rescue should be underway by now.

Still, they only had an hour and a half-long window to get everyone on the transports, which meant he needed to get these people moving, and quickly, since they had about a mile to walk to reach the transports, and with over 50 untrained civilians of every age coming with them, along with any valuables and necessary materials, they needed all the time they could get.

Douglas turned to the old lady and nodded to two of his own men. "You two, stay with Mrs. Fairbanks," he ordered, turning to another, "You, go outside and tell the First, Second, and Third to get these people moving. We're short on time and the Death Eaters won't be blind to our little escapade forever."

As the man nodded and ran off, he called out one last time, "We better move it, people! We have an appointment to meet, and I'd hate for us to be late to it!"

* * *

"Lion Squadron, this is Lion One. Sound off green light," came the crackling voice over the comm. radio. 

Jack Fanning, the second-in-command in Lion squadron, gave a slightly enthusiastic smile before calling, "Lion Two, green light."

He soon heard the others sounding off as the squadron flew in formation over the waters separating them from the enemy base.

"Lion Three, good to go!"

"Lion Four, ready!"

"Lion Five, all green and ready to kick some arse!"

"Lion Six, all instruments green!"

"Lion Seven, ready and awaiting orders."

"Lion Eight, awaiting instructions."

"Lion Nine, ready as I'll ever be!"

"Lion Ten, let me at 'em!"

"Lion Eleven, ready!"

"Lion Twelve, green light!"

"Lion One, green light. Disengage weapon safety," came the squadron leader's orders. Jack nodded to himself as he flipped the appropriate switch in his fighter. He soon heard the whirr of the bolts clogging his guns and securing his missiles disengage.

What had his attention, however, were the numerous dots that were flashing on his radar, steadily coming closer towards them.

"Lion Two. Heads up, gents! Six Drags at twelve o'clock!" he warned the squadron through his comm.

"Roger, Lion Two. Break into combat wings. Let them pass between us," ordered Lion One.

Jack nodded to himself once more and jerked his stick to the left, breaking from squadron formation as Lions Seven through Twelve followed him, while One through six broke to the right.

Lion One's call ended up being wise as the dragons (nicknamed Drags by the Air Force pilots) ploughed right through the middle, spouting fire in their path while their handlers shot spells at the dodging fighters.

"Lion Two to Two Flight, engage at will!" ordered Jack as he jerked his stick to the right in an attempt to get behind the more agile and sentient dragons.

He found himself lucky as he watched one of the dragons dally and not break in any direction, like his companions were doing. Jack quickly pulled the trigger and watched with glee as the normal, Muggle-made bullets (which were held in so much contempt by the Death Eaters) shredded away at the Dragon and his handler.

"One Drag down!" he called as the dragon fell limply from the sky and into the water below.

"…and thirteen to go," answered Lion Eight, ever the literal cynic, as more blips showed up on the radar.

"Lion Ten begs Lion Eight to shut it and shoot _something_ down!" quickly answered a female voice. Jack grinned. It was the squadron's personal hothead, one Rose Hawking.

"Lion Two to Two Flight, cut the chatter and _shoot_ something!" he ordered, though everyone could hear the smile in his voice.

Jack soon managed to down another dragon as Lions Ten and Twelve also brought one down each. They had a close call, though, when Lion Seven was forced to break off from the engagement when his wing was partially melted by dragon fire. It had been a lucky hit, though.

Nearly half an hour later, though, they were still going at it with the dragons, and Jack was getting somewhat impatient. There were five left going against his flight, and about six more going after One Flight. He knew that they would be in huge trouble soon if the signal to break off wasn't quickly given.

"Ten; where the _hell_ are those transports?" demanded Rose through the comm.

"Six; I agree with Ten, boss. We can't hold out much longer," came the concerned voice of Lion Six.

"Lion Two to Two Flight, the transports will be there soon enough. We've got to give them more time!" urged Jack as he dodged a spell that would have blasted away his cockpit window.

"Nine here. Sir, with all due respect, any more time and _we'll_ be the ones needing protection!"

Though Jack personally agreed with that statement as he dodged some dragon fire, he still had a mission to accomplish. "Nine, we've got a mission to fulfill! Without us, those transports are sitting ducks!" he replied.

"If they don't move it, we'll be sitting ducks too," muttered Eight through the comm.

Jack ignored Eight's mutterings and kept his eyes on the radar and his glass window, simply trying to stay alive at this point.

He was just dodging yet another flurry of spells when the radio crackled with an unfamiliar voice.

"This is Rescue Team One to Lion Squadron! Transports are secure!"

'Finally!' thought Jack before turning on his comm. "Two to Two Flight, break from engagement! All fighters back to the _Retaliation_!"

A flurry of acknowledgements came through the radio as he pulled his fighter into a sharp U-Turn, avoiding more dragon fire in the process.

As he raced his fighter towards the awaiting ships, he allowed a smile to creep up his face.

They'd done it.

Mission Accomplished.


	3. Chapter III: Surviving

_AN: Chapter III is here!_

_A few general answers to reviewer questions that may be shared by many of you:_

_Imperial Scientists: bluenight17 posed this interesting question. Is the situation of the captured scientists the same as those in Operation Paperclip (WWII)? The answer is no. While the extraction of Nazi scientists occured, for the most part, with their own cooperation, the Imperial scientists working for the Death Eaters are coerced into doing so. Unlike the Nazi scientists, they have had no choice in it, and are, for all intents and purposes, prisoners of war._

_Britain's Fall: A number of you have posed this question: What was the reaction to the Empire's fall? The answer is partly answered by this chapter, but a few details are left out. A partial list of country situations will be given at the end of this chapter. _

_Dragon Skin vs. Imperial ammo: Yes, dragon skin is -very- resistant to magic and ordinary object. However, given enough time, and enough ammo spent, I'm pretty sure that a protrusion could be made with some of the old magic-muggle ammunition hybrids. Given five years of R&D, then, it's not unreasonable to believe that the Imperials may have developed an effective anti-dragon skin ammunition for its fighters. Mind you, a direct fire blast from a dragon, or a strike from its claws, is still enough to shred a jet apart, so it's not entirely one-sided (valid question submitted by Kell Shock). _

_Also, a quick note. The Lions are a jet fighter squadron, and the mission detailed in the previous chapter was a simple infiltration operation, even though propaganda may make it seem far more. (Hint, hint!)_

* * *

_Panama City, Panama_

The streets of Panama were bustling around at this time of day.

It was akin to an exodus, the amount of cars and people that suddenly flooded the streets. But the circumstances of the mass movement were far more benign.

It was time to go home.

And so the streets filled themselves with cars, pedestrians, and all manners of transportation.

Time had been good to the country of Panama. The massive war that had exploded with the fall of the British Empire had brought many refugees to the comparatively peaceful arena that Latin America—and Panama particularly—presented.

The United States up north had quickly ceased to become a safe haven for British and European exiles as the American government quickly struck a deal with the Death Eaters in order to preserve American territorial integrity. In return for keeping the US out of the war, all the Americans had to do was turn over any British Imperial subject or European refugees, and assist in any attack on Imperial and other European targets within a small range of American territory.

Latin America, however, had staunchly refused to partake in any such persecution, condemning the North for such selfish abandonment. However, from fear of Northern retribution for their refusal, the Latin governments, from Mexico to Venezuela, decided to form a union to protect each other from any Death Eater or Northern aggression, called the Latin Confederacy of Free States, known better by the contracted title of "The Confederacy".

Though obviously not as well armed as the Americans or Death Eaters at first, the arrival of many Imperial refugees quickly armed the Confederate government with Imperial Britain's superior weaponry, allowing the Confederacy to remain a safe haven for any Imperial or European refugee.

However, the fact that each Latin country was now armed to the tooth with superior weaponry had not diminished the feeling of safety that the people attributed to the Confederate system, and so a central seat of government was created with unanimous consent by all Heads of State, to be seated at the Isthmus of Panama, in its capital city of Panama City.

The main seat of power, the executive building, was built in the middle of the new urbanization that was being built at the outskirts of Panama City. It was built to resemble the US Capitol building, but on a larger scale, due to the fact that the executive possessed an enormous bureaucracy that dealt with the affairs of every Latin nation party to the Confederacy.

Nearby was yet another symbol of Confederate power—the circular, enormous building that housed the Confederate Legislative Assembly, where representatives of every legislature in the Confederacy would meet to either report on passed laws, or debate Confederate-wide laws.

Finally, the third symbol of Confederate power resided to the right of the Confederate Capitol, the Confederate Court of Equal and Free Justice, better known as "The Court." There, the laws of the Confederacy were declared valid or not, using the Declaration of Panama—the Confederacy's main constitutional document—as a reference.

And it was from here that Matthew Potter, eldest son of the esteemed Potter family, was leaving to go home.

The sandy-haired Potter gave a cheerful farewell to his workmates as he descended the marble white steps that led up to the Court's entrance. He was in a good mood today—he'd managed to get a law he'd helped pass in the Assembly be declared valid. It was now legal within the Confederacy to persecute Dark wizards who possessed intentions to aid either the Americans or Death Eaters. It'd been a law he'd been fighting to pass for the past three years, when the Declaration had been signed by all Heads of State.

Matthew walked down the steps towards a man in a black suit that was waiting for him outside of his black car.

"Afternoon, Antonio," greeted Matthew as he nodded to the smartly-dressed driver.

"Buenas tardes, señor Matthew," replied the driver in fluent Spanish. "Back home, or somewhere else, señor?"

"Home, Antonio," answered the exhilarated, but weary Potter as he got into the back seat, whose door Antonio was holding open.

"Very good, señor," agreed Antonio as he closed the door and went over to the driver's door and got in.

Matthew sighed contentedly as he leaned his head back onto the cushioned headrest and let the cold air of the permanently Cooled car freshen him. Despite his initial reservations at the Magical world's exposure, he had to admit that almost everything that had resulted from it had been good, with the odd exception.

The streets were now repaired and cleaned by magic, cars were designed to activate small crystals that sent out Cooling or Heating spells of varying degrees of temperature. Fuel had been almost entirely replaced by hydrogen fuel cells, whose mass marketing and production had become possible by the presence of magic.

Construction, however, was one thing that remained almost entirely Muggle. Whatever the benefits of magic, people wanted to feel safe in their homes, and millennia of Muggle construction had deeply imbedded a firm belief in the Muggle construction process—something that even the magical community agreed with.

Even in medicine, magic had not totally taken over. While many ailments could be cured by magical means, there were some that Muggles could cure much more safely or quickly.

And so the Confederacy, by taking in the refugees from all over Europe and elsewhere, reaped the benefits that the isolationist North had foregone in order to keep itself out of the war.

"Any interesting news, Antonio?" asked Matthew as he closed his eyes and let the cool air cool his warmed up body—for he was still not used to Latin America's higher temperatures or humidity.

The Latino driver shook his head as he looked up into the rear view mirror. "No, señor," he answered, "not that I know of."

Matthew nodded his head briefly. "Turn on the radio, will you, Antonio?"

The driver silently acknowledged the order and pressed a button on his steering wheel, turning on the radio. To Matthew's delight, the news was on.

"_**Good afternoon, Confederacy! This is British Confederate News, reporting to you live from ECN Headquarters in the British Quarter!**_" blared the radio. "_**We are pleased to bring to you this special report—Death Eater defeat in the North! Warlord claims victory as Death Eater fort is raided and destroyed! Reporter Jenny Holloway has more on this story!**_"

Matthew's eyes shot open at the news and he immediately leaned forward to hear more. From the corner of his eye, he could see Antonio was just as interested.

"_**Thank you, Tom,**_" thanked a female voice, "_**Today marks yet another day of defeat for the Death Eaters in the North as NBLF forces push them back for the fifth time in a row, guaranteeing the NBLF faction almost complete control over old Nova Scotia.**_"

Both the driver and Matthew gave a whoop of delight at the news.

"_**Reports of this defeat came when this reporter was mailed an anonymous package which contained an official statement from the NBLF and photographs and a video of the engagement. It had been declared by forensic scientists in the Confederate Police to be, without a doubt, authentic and not staged,**_" reported the woman. "_**The Confederate government has refused to comment on the issue, but several other factions, including the Caribbean Imperial Remnant, have congratulated the NBLF on its heroic victory.**_"

Matthew tuned out the rest of the news as it turned to more menial stories, but kept a happy grin as his car made its way towards the Bay Area, where the richer populace kept their residence.

Matthew gave Antonio a polite farewell as he got out of the car at the base of the building and made his way into the elevator, nodding to the building employees as he passed them. There, he inserted his specialized key into the appropriate slot—the penthouse socket—and hummed under his breath as he waited for the elevator to reach his floor.

Once the doors opened, he was almost instantly bowled over by a tiny red blur.

"Uncle Matthew!" squealed four-year old Sarah Potter, Ginny and Harry's only child.

Matt laughed as he bent over and picked up his niece, making her squeal happily some more as she was lifted over his head. Still, seeing his niece made his heart give a painful pang. The poor girl had only ever grown up knowing her mother, but not her father, whom the family had assumed died when no news came from him.

Poor Ginny had almost miscarried from grief when they finally gave up waiting for him to reach them.

Still, months later his sister-in-law gave birth to the beautiful new member of the Potter family who, while a living reminder that Harry was no longer with them, nonetheless managed to fill the Potter home with joy.

"Matt?" came his sister-in-law's voice. "Matt? Is that you?"

"Over here, Ginny!" called out Matthew as he brought his giggling niece to his chest and kept her there.

As Ginny walked into the greeting room, Matthew was once again struck at how well the petite woman had aged. Despite her grief, Ginny had matured into a beautiful young woman, with radiant red hair that caught everyone's attention, pearly-white skin, and fine, aristocratic facial features. She was well-proportioned all around, her once-almost body-wide freckles had now been reduced to a spatter around her nose, and, if not for her firm devotion to her husband's memory, she could easily have had her choice of nearly any man in the region.

Ginny gave her brother-in-law a gentle smile as she saw her daughter in his arms. "How was your day, Matthew?" she asked softly, her hands atop one another in at the base of her stomach.

Matthew gave her an easy grin. "Boring, as usual," he told her while tickling his niece, who squealed with laughter as she tried to squirm away from his grasp.

Ginny nodded and simply remained quiet as she watched her daughter entertain herself. Not for the last time, Matthew sighed as he watched the passive signs of Ginny's eternal grief.

Harry's death had caused enormous emotional change in Ginny. Her normally bright and fiery spirit was all but gone—only ever present when playing with her daughter. Once an active and passionate woman, she was now content to be relegated to the menial tasks of being a housewife, only ever taking up her old job as a spy whenever there was no other option. Instead of laughing, she now simply smiled, though her sadness was palpable in her eyes.

When once she would have hexed her brothers or siblings-in-law at a moment's notice if they annoyed her, she now simply chided them gently before leaving the room.

The only exception, however, was her brother Ron.

When the Empire had fallen, many purebloods had also fled Britain as the Death Eaters turned on those they considered blood traitors and cowards. Among them were the Weasleys and Longbottoms, both of which fled first to Canada, only to find the Imperial province under Death Eater control, and then to the US, where they were almost caught by American collaborator groups. Finally, they emigrated to Panama, where they now resided in the more isolationist quarter, where those who fled the Empire but did not support the Empire resided. Their leader was Albus Dumbledore, who, for some reason, looked almost defeated.

Regardless, the Potters and Weasleys had met shortly after the latter had arrived, with the Potters offering to help them settle in. The Weasleys, however, had hotly refused (or rather, Molly, Ron, and Percy had all shouted their refusal) as they explained that due to their collaboration with the Imperials, both Charlie and Bill had been captured by the Death Eaters. Ron had then scathingly accused Harry of being the cause of all their troubles, condemned his sister for marrying him, and went further by calling the newly-born Sarah a bastard child, which caused the then-taciturn Ginny to snap.

Ron was in a coma for the next five months.

Ron's exclamation, and Molly and Percy's refusal to apologize for it, had been the last straw for the only other two Imperial sympathizers in the Weasleys—the twins. Fred and George told their horrified mother that they were, until such a time when Molly and Percy both apologized to Ginny and the Potters for their many slights, reneging on their family name. The two had then crossed over to the Potter side and put a protecting hand on Ginny's shoulders. All throughout the feud, Arthur Weasley watched in dismay as his family was torn apart before his eyes.

Since that one cursing, however, Ginny had rarely ever again picked up her wand, and Matthew hypothesized that it was due to the fact that it reminded her of Harry, since it had been him who'd provided her with the money to buy it.

Matthew grinned at his giggling niece as he put her down, watching her then bolt over towards her mother, who smiled radiantly down at her daughter.

"Mommy, can we go now?" asked the little girl. Ginny chuckled softly.

"In a moment, dear. Have you brushed your teeth?" asked Ginny.

"I did this morning!" declared Sarah proudly. Ginny smiled.

"Go wash them again, then, dear. You just ate," she gently chided Sarah, who nodded enthusiastically before running off to perform the aforementioned task. Ginny then turned to Matthew, who was looking at her curiously.

"Where are you two off to?" he asked.

"To the park," answered Ginny. "Sarah's become enamoured with it, it would seem."

Matthew nodded pensively. "Who are you taking with you for protection?" he asked, concerned.

Ginny gave him an appreciative smile. "Clark is coming with us," she told him. Matthew nodded once more, just as Sarah came back skipping into the greeting room.

"Done!" declared the four-year-old up at her mother.

Ginny smiled down at her daughter before nodding and extending out a gloved hand (Ginny didn't tan well and so kept much of her skin under clothing). "Let's go, then," she told Sarah. "Clark is waiting downstairs," she informed both her brother-in-law and her daughter, who squealed at the announcement—out of all the guards employed by the Potter family, she liked Clark the most.

Once the two Potter females were gone, Matthew sighed before taking off his coat and hanging it on the coat hanger. He then walked into the living room feeling a lot lighter in his vest and shirt. Imperial fashion had also taken the Confederacy by storm, causing nearly everyone to dress up in old Imperial clothing.

In the living room, Matthew found his father sitting on the couch facing the two-floor high glass windows, reading the afternoon edition newspaper.

"Heard about the battle up north, then?" asked Matthew as James lowered the paper. The Potter patriarch smiled genially at his son before nodding.

"Quite the event. It's made every afternoon edition paper in the Confederacy," remarked the James.

"Aye," agreed Matthew as she sat down on the comfy chair. "The Duke is really giving the Death Eaters a headache," he commented.

"The Duke?" asked James as he kept on reading.

"Yep, it's what the lads at the Assembly are calling him. The Duke of the North," explained Matthew with an extravagant gesture at the name, causing James to chuckle. "All the warlords have nicknames."

James now put his paper down and raised an eyebrow at his son. "Oh?"

Matthew nodded lazily. "Yeah. Tybalt Staples, the leader of the Asian Loyalist League? We call him Davy Jones, after all the ships he's sunk," exemplified Matthew. "Gregory O'Connor, the head of the Caribbean Imperial Remnant? We call him Lord Carib."

"And Craig McDonald?"

"The head of the European Imperial Resistance?" a nod, "We call him Caesar."

"What about John Sulu, of the African Imperial League?"

"The Congo Lord,"

"You're kidding."

"Nope. Didn't make that one up, either. You can thank last year's delegate from Honduras for that."

"The guy who got arrested for drug use?"

"The very one."

"I wonder who the Duke is, though," commented James, changing the subject. "I mean, he's the only warlord whose name has never been revealed."

"Probably some Canadian ex-Imperial," said Matthew unconcernedly.

"Hmm," agreed James, though deep down, he felt a little sceptical at the remark.

* * *

_Country situations:_

_Canada: Occupied (with exception of NLBF territory in Nova Scotia)_

_Europe: Splintered between collaborators (West Germany, Switzerland, Southern France, Central Spain, Southern Portugal), Anti-Death Eater (East Germany, Austria, Baltic States, Poland, Slavic States, Northern France, Northern Spain, Italy, Greece, Ireland [took control of Northern Ireland post-British fall), and Neutral (the rest). Gibraltar under E.I.R. control. _

_Russia: Broken up. Anti-DE forces control St. Petersburg-Moscow-Volgograd triangle region, DE-Collaborators control Archangel-Vyborg-Murmansk region and all south of Rostov-Astrakhan line. Mid and East Russian have split into the neutral states of Kingdom of Siberia, and the Free Confederacy of Omsk._

_China: Entirely neutral and still under Socialist-Republic control._

_Japan: Independent and fervently anti-DE. Under the rule of the Japanese Emperor (a powerful light-sided dark wizard)_

_Africa: Carved into spheres of influence. Most of South Africa has remained loyal to Britain. Egypt and most of North Africa is under DE control. Middle Africa is generally neutral._

_United States: DE Collaborators (with major pockets of resistance existing in California, New York, Philadelphia, Texas, and Mid-West)_

_Latin America: United (Mexico to Venezuela) into Latin Confederacy of Free States._

_South America: Eastern half neutral. Western half (western half of Brazil) DE-Collaborators. At constant war with Confederacy_

_Oceania: Australia, under DE Occupation (with exception of eastern coast--under A.L.L. control); New Guinea--Neutral. New Zealand under Imperial control.  
_

_Caribbean: Under C.I.R. control._

_Falklands: Under N.L.B.F. control (only exception). _

_Final note: The Magical world has become fully exposed now. As such, each country may or may not have magical elements in its society and/or military (depending on their position. Collaborator nations are more likely to have both)_


	4. Chapter IV: Harrisburg

_AN: Three things. One, I ask you, dear readers, not to judge Harry too harshly based on the events of this chapter. Please remember the past vignettes in previous installments referring to his relationship to Ginny before you go off saying "Harry is scum!"_

_Secondly, I hope that this chapter may answer a comment I found in one of my reviews about the lack of communication between the Imperial resistance factions._

_Third, I'm going to start including "Newspaper Headlines" at the beginning of every relevant chapter in order to give you readers a better idea on the situation of the world._

_Cheers!_

_Marquis Black_

* * *

_From "The Legend of the Duke," by Christopher Klein_

_Extract from Chapter 2, "Creating the Myth"_

_"...the start of the myth of the Northern Duke has its roots in truly trivial circumstances. Its beginning can be traced back to the first report of the NBLF victories in Canada to the Confederacy after the fall of Halifax. Originally, the report was supposed to include Harry Potter's name, but it was unintentionally left out in a typing error. When the Duke and the later Admiral Hawke heard of this however, they decided, thanks in part to Hawke's urging, to leave the Duke's name intentionally left out of future dispatches. Their reasoning, it seems, was that by foregoing the Duke's given name, they were creating for the Imperial Resistance a symbol of Imperial victory of mythical proportions. With each passing victory, Hawke had argued, the myth of the Duke would grow greater and greater, and would give the scattered peoples of the Empire someone to look up to. Someone so grand, so great that their hopes and determination were kept and raised up every day..."_

* * *

_News Headlines:_

_**Resistance Scores a Victory in Australia!**_

_Sydney nearly liberated!_

_**Defeat in Europe!**_

_Anti-Death Eater Coalition retreats after battering defeat at Aix!_

_**"Meddling Will Be Retaliated Against," Japanese Emperor Declares!**_

_Death Eater Representative kicked out!_

_**Irish Army Triumphs!**_

_Reports indicate great victory at Galway!_

_**American Resistance Blamed for Bombing!**_

_45 People killed in bombing of American-Death Eater Rapprochement Association Building! _

_**32 People Executed in Brazil!**_

_Victims accused of treason!_

* * *

_Harrisburg, Capital of New Britannia_

Harry watched neutrally as the citizens of his city walked past his horse-drawn carriage. Across from him sat Admiral Hawke and to his right sat his Chief of Staff (a necessary hire), Allison McIntyre, wife to one of his lieutenants. She was presently informing him of his daily schedule.

"…and Sulu's new delegation should be arriving today, Your Grace," informed Allison. "They'll be expecting all the proper formalities, which means a courtesy call to your person, Your Grace,"

"Fine, fine," acceded Harry as he rubbed his aching forehead. "Sulu always _was_ a stickler for the rules, back at the Academy," he commented. "What else?"

Allison quickly paged through her notebook. "A meeting with the Harrisburg Commercial Guild at five thirty, followed by a tour of the Northern Shipyards."

Harry gave a disbelieving snort. "Do I have _any_ free time at all today?" he asked.

Allison shook her head. "I'm sorry, your Grace, but today is a particularly heavy day."

Harry nodded reluctantly in acceptance. "Very well. Any good news at all?" he asked.

Allison looked through her day planner for a moment before nodding. "Imperial Shipyards report that construction on the new _Resolution_-Class flagship is finished," she reported.

That piqued Harry's interest. He'd commissioned Imperial Shipyards, the main shipbuilding company in his domains, to build an even bigger class of ships—one whose members would be slower, but far more powerful assault ships.

"Is it ready for launching?" asked Harry. In front of him, Admiral Hawke looked just as eager to find out as Allison paged her planner.

"Unfortunately, no, Your Grace," she replied at length. "The ship must still be tested for flight capabilities and weapon efficiency."

Harry and the admiral nodded somewhat reluctantly. They were both extremely eager to use the _Resolution_ as the new vanguard for their final offensive to lay claim to Nova Scotia.

They had, of course, another reason for wanting the _Resolution_ as well.

This other reason for the building of the _Resolution_ Class ships was to make the NLBF the most dangerous of the different Loyalist factions. For, despite their common hatred of the Death Eaters and their allies, the Imperial factions were also divided by strife. Each wanted to be the one that would bring back the Empire—and Harry was no exception.

Every warlord roaming the planet, from mild O'Connor to brutal McDonald, had ambition. Even Harry. All had personal aspirations that made them unable to fully cooperate with the other. However, even as these differences plagued their unity, the different warlords did have embassies set up in each others' territory.

They even shared technology, which was why every warlord now possessed Assault Ships, of the _Retaliation_ Class. However, Harry's spies had heard that McDonald, Sulu, and Staples had all begun to work on a larger denomination of Assault Ships, which was why he'd commissioned the _Resolution_.

"When will it be ready to launch?" asked the Admiral. A nod from Harry had Allison reading from her book once more.

"About…a week from now."

Harry looked over to Hawke. "Can we postpone the attack that long?" he asked.

Hawke looked pensive for a moment before nodding. "It shouldn't make a difference. The Death Eaters have no idea we're coming either way."

Harry nodded. "Very good. Allison, note the change. The expedition will leave in a week, not after-tomorrow."

"Very good, Your Grace"

The carriage suddenly started to slow down, indicating that they were arriving at Harry's headquarters—though palace would have been a better fitting word. Harry, however, made no move to leave and instead nodded over to the admiral.

"Admiral, you go on ahead," he told his senior Navy officer. "I'll follow in a minute. I have another affair to deal with first."

Hawke nodded once before saluting and tapping the roof once, indicating that only one person, and not the Duke, would be getting out. The carriage driver quickly got off and opened the wooden door, allowing the Admiral to climb out. The man then turned on his heel and swept off his hat in a bow.

"I'll be informing the Council of your lateness, then, Your Grace?" he asked.

Harry nodded. "Tell them I'll be arriving after having dealt with something," he told him.

The admiral bowed a bit lower in acknowledgement. "As you wish, Your Grace," he replied before straightening up and entering the palace.

Meanwhile, Harry nodded to the driver, who closed the door to the carriage. The carriage jerked forward suddenly at first before steadily picking up speed, until they were at a decent trot.

Harry motioned to Allison, who daintily jerked the lever that brought down the window screens, essentially occluding the inside of the carriage from the populace outside.

One look from Harry told Allison exactly what the affair was.

* * *

A far more relieved Duke entered the Council room twenty minutes later.

As Allison watched her leader walk into the middle of the Council room, where a small, circular platform with his seat on top resided, she thought on the Duke's earlier activity.

It was no secret to her husband that the Duke often partook in having sex with her, due, they believed, to her passing resemblance to the Duke's deceased wife. In fact, it hadn't even been the Duke's idea that he and she begin this affair, but rather hers and her husband's.

Douglas owed the Duke everything he had, including his wife, since they would have never met had they not been both positioned in the same platoon. She could still remember that fateful day, when Douglas had asked her to cover him as he, crazily enough, leaped towards the cover of some crates. The very memory made her smile, remaining completely oblivious to the routine and dreary meeting occurring before her.

Allison, too, owed the Duke everything. The void in her life that she'd dealt with for most of her life had been filled with her inducting into the Imperial Armed Forces. Her stationing on the _Retaliation_ had given her a whole new, fascinating world to look forward to, and her posting in the 1st Platoon of A Company had gotten her, her husband.

Yes, the two McIntyres owed the Duke everything. And so they decided to help their beloved commander any way they could.

Which was how Douglas had come to the conclusion that she should suggest having an affair, telling him, of course, that he approved.

It had taken the better part of nearly two years before the Duke finally caved in to his basic, physiological needs. That same day when he'd agreed, he'd grabbed her by the wrists, pushed her onto his table, and taken her right there in his office. Allison had simply lain there and enjoyed it.

Douglas, to her delight, was not rattled nor did he become full of jealousy, making her fall in love even more with him, even if the idea had been his. He had completely rationalized the encounter, simply telling her that he understood that the Duke had needs to fill and that, as long as she took the Contraception Potion, he was fine with it.

Douglas' final agreement to it had cemented the affair between the Duke and Allison. Once every week, he'd stay behind before an event and take her into a deserted room or into a closet, where he'd then hike up her skirt and take her right there, or sometimes even call her into his office after hours. There was no fear of getting caught, either. There were no cameras in the palace, as the Duke had magical cameras that he had access to through his glasses.

And besides, if anyone _did_ catch them and intended to reveal the affair in a negative light, the Duke would simply make him/her disappear, or get reassigned to some suicidal attack.

Allison shifted a bit as she felt somewhat uncomfortable in her underwear. Getting ones underwear on in a carriage in motion was no small feat.

Still, thinking about the affair had gotten Allison somewhat flushed and, as she watched the Duke start speaking to the council, she decided that her husband was definitely going to get some quality time that night.

"…The Northern Britannic Loyalist Forces wishes to express its cordial welcome to the delegates from our brethren from Africa, and welcome their words of wisdom," welcomed Harry, spreading his arms in a friendly gesture towards the two dark-skinned men who were sitting to his front. Now came the ugly part, though.

"However, as I've already told General Sulu, I cannot agree with his League," declared Harry, to the expecting looks of the delegates. "The methods the General wishes to implement against the Death Eaters would mean the abandoning several important and _loyal_," he emphasized, "Imperial lands, which all expect and live under Imperial protection."

"However," Harry then said, "The Northern Britannic Loyalist Forces are always agreeable to negotiating this stance in favour of one more partial to those lands which union to the General's League would mean abandonment. I thank you for your time, and once again, heartily welcome your presence, delegates."

Harry watched as everyone in the room rose to applaud him, even the African delegates. There were no hard feelings—it was simply restating facts that had already been said over and over and over again.

As everyone applauded, however, Harry let his eyes wander over to Allison and a small, satisfied smile escaped him as he thought of the romp they'd had in the carriage. She was a decent lay, he admitted to himself, but she wasn't his Ginny, who was the only one who could truly satisfy him. Allison was also, to his mind, not as beautiful or heart-stopping as Ginny was, but the passing resemblance she bore was enough to get his libido working every time he saw her, which was why he only sporadically met with her, even on the_Retaliation_.

He held no attachment to the redheaded older woman. In fact, whenever they were in coitus, he would always speak out his wife's name, not hers. Still, the experience was pleasant enough, and it satisfied his libido, which kept his head clear.

Harry gracefully walked off the platform as it lowered back down to the ground, walking forward to meet with the African delegates. The first one moved in quickly and shook his hand vigorously.

"The General sends his greetings, Marshall Potter," stated the delegate. Harry took no offence at having his title omitted—none of the warlords recognized any non-Royally accredited nobility title.

Harry gave them an honest smile. "I hope the General is well?"

"Well enough," answered the second delegate, who also shook his hand. "He sent to say that he would be attending the Conclave, if you would tell him the location, since you are this year's Chair."

Harry nodded the Conclave, or rather, the Conclave of Imperial Brethren, was a private meeting among the different warlords that occurred every year at an undisclosed location. The Chair of the Conclave was appointed by turns based on geography. This year, it was the North's turn, so Harry had gotten the Chair position.

"We're still figuring it out," he assured the delegates. "Our incursion yesterday caused us to move resources towards the offensive, so we've had little time to plan."

The delegates nodded in acceptance. "Very well, Marshall," spoke the first delegate. "We shall be waiting for your directions at the embassy." With that, the two delegates gave a short bow and left the room, allowing Harry's officials to mob him.

At the clutter of voices, Harry rose a hand that shut them all up. "One at a time, gentlemen," he reminded them.

"Sir, the Artisans Guild requests a meeting with Your Grace," a clerk spoke first.

Harry waved dismissively. "Have them send the request through the proper channels. No one gets preferential treatment."

"The Northern Fleet is awaiting orders, Your Grace," spoke another official, this one a Commodore.

"Have the _Ark Royal_ begin its raiding tour along Route Four"

"Sir, the Planning Committee needs your approval about using Central Island as the meeting place for the Conclave"

"Granted. Get everything ready. I want that meeting to happen in three days."

Harry skilfully delegated tasks and gave his approval as, one by one, his officials came forward with requests and announcements and papers to sign.

By the time he was finished, however, it was time to go meet with the Commerce Guild. A slight touch from Allison on his arm reminded him of that and, excusing himself, Harry followed his Chief of Staff out of the palace and into the awaiting carriage.

* * *

_AN: So, having read the chapter, I'd like you to now remember, before flaming Harry's actions_, _the following words: A good general keeps his lower head fulfilled, and his upper head in the game._ _That being said, I apologize for the crudeness of the statement, but it applies here._

_Also, I was asked about the status of the Middle-East-India region at this time._

_Middle East: Dominated mostly by Anti-Death Eater Islamic groups, though splintered due to religious and political reasons._

_India (including Pakistan): South dominated by A.L.L.; North split between local anti-Imperial, Anti-Death Eater factions, and pro-DE factions. _

_Also, on the question regarding the Japanese Emperor. How can a man be a dark wizard who favours the light? Well, he's a dark wizard because the magic he knows would be classified, in western nations, as Dark, seeing as how they mostly aim to cause pain. He doesn't, however, ever use them except when fighting wars, and merely uses the less potent ones (like melding into shadows) on a trivial level (like hiding his face from the "unworthy"). _


	5. Chapter V: The Conclave

_AN: Thanks for the positive reviews, ladies and gents. It's always a pleasure to hear such positive feedback from my readers. _

* * *

_ Headlines:_

_**Arizona Uprising Squashed by United States Army!**_

_Major Setback for American Resistance!_

_**C.I.R. Claims Victory in Skirmish!**_

_3 Assault Ships Taken Down by CIR!_

_**Annual Meeting of Imperial Warlords Set to Begin!**_

_No Known Topics to be Discussed--Rumors Abound!_

_**Confederate Victory in the South!**_

_Brazilian Forces forced to retreat!  
_

* * *

_Three Days Later…_

Harry watched atop the _Retaliation_'s observation deck as the island they were headed for neared more and more.

Flanking him stood his two designated aides for the meeting—Allison and the now-Major Neville. Both seemed somewhat anxious as Harry watched serenely at the approaching isle.

Central Island had been a relatively new discovery on his faction's part. Uncharted, the island had risen due to volcanic creation years ago, with the volcano now extinct. It wasn't large, by any means, but it was large enough that a secret meeting hall could be constructed within the stone interior of the extinct volcano.

"Everything is ready?" Harry asked softly.

Allison nodded, despite the fact that Harry could not see her. "Necessary supplies were finished bringing in yesterday."

Harry nodded. "Good," he said, before leaning forward and grabbing the railing. "Any other news I should know about before I go into the conference?"

"South Quadrant is heating up," inserted Neville. "Death Eater and American ships tried to flank Nova Scotia, but Commodore Ames managed to beat them back."

Harry nodded. "Anything else?"

"Fort Halifax was attacked by dragons this morning," added Allison as she read off her notes. "Shield Squadron managed to beat them back, though"

Harry nodded. "Very well," he said, as the ship moved into the quickly-built docks. "Showtime."

* * *

"Under the auspices of our beloved Empire's memory, I, Harry James Potter, Chairman of this session's Conclave of Imperial Brethren, do declare this meeting in session!"

With that announcement pronounced, the five Imperial warlords sat down on the cushioned stone thrones. As per the Conclave's custom, a single, elevated throne remained empty in the middle of the circular meeting room. The five warlords' seats around it represented their tenure as custodians of the throne, empty though it was.

Harry looked to his left, nodding in greeting to General Sulu, who nodded back in greeting.

"The first matter before us today," announced Harry as he returned his gaze on his fellow warlords, "is that of the Americans' involvement in the war."

"Bah!" sneered Staples, easily the largest of the group, measuring over 2 meters in height and all muscle, making the redheaded, bearded man look terrifying. "We should just attack their homeland! That should have the rats running!"

"The Americans have been armed by the Death Eaters," calmly reminded O'Connor. "An attack on their coastline, however large though it may be, would still result in much of our forces either being tied down, or killed."

"What do you suggest we do, then?" demanded McDonald. "Allow them to keep supplying the Death Eaters with better, improved weapons? Need I remind you that the Death Eaters' entire Airfleet was built on American soil?"

"An attack would be unwise, but doing nothing, even less," Sulu summed up wisely. "The question is, which benefits the Empire the most?"

"That is indeed the question," agreed Harry as he steepled his hands. "The problem we have, however, is that the only forces in a position to attack America are mine, Admiral O'Connor's, and Admiral Staples'. Hardly enough to succeed," he estimated.

Staples slammed down a fist on his armrest. "I say we try anyway! The Americans have begun to get creative! Just the other day, they sunk two of my _Retaliation_-Class Assault Ships!"

"How did they manage to do that?" asked a surprised Sulu. "The Americans should not have any weapon sufficiently powerful to penetrate the armour!"

"Well then, they do now!" spat Staples. "The blasted Yanks put four holes in the _Adventurer_ and _Buccaneer_ and both sunk minutes after!"

Harry heard O'Connor give an appreciative whistle. "Any chance you captured a specimen of this new weapon?" he asked.

Staples angrily shook his head. "Blasted ships retreated soon after."

"How come the Confederacy hasn't broadcasted that, though?" asked McDonald. "Surely, the media there would have gotten hold of the news. They're bound to transmit everything, as their constitution dictates!"

"Probably trying to save the news for such a time when we deliver a hard blow to the Death Eaters and/or the Americans," guessed Harry. "They're obligated to report everything, but not _immediately_. It's a convenient loophole"

Everyone nodded.

"What about the Americans, though?" repeated Staples, bringing them back to the original topic. "If we don't stop them now, the Death Eaters will have a better equipped Airfleet at their disposal. One we currently cannot match!"

_Until my new capital ship is done_, the room thought in conjunction.

Harry saw out of the corner of his eye as Sulu steepled his hands pensively.

"Perhaps," the dark-skinned warlord suggested, "we could put off a mass offensive in favour of several, surgical strikes against their infrastructure?"

O'Connor nodded at length. "It sounds reasonable."

McDonald seemed a bit reluctant to agree, but eventually nodded as well. "Agreed."

Harry now watched Staples struggle with his temper as the bearded mountain of a man fought to swallow his pride as he said, "Fine."

"Excellent," declared Harry as he nodded as well. "We are in accord, then. Several strikes will be performed against the American homeland, in order to disrupt their military infrastructure. Details of said strikes are to be negotiated independently."

The four other warlords nodded at that, prompting Harry to continue.

"Now, the next order of business is the Arms Equality Treaty that General McDonald is proposing…"

* * *

Four hours later, Harry was finally leaving the conference room and heading towards his quarters, ready to call it a day. Unfortunately, he had no suck luck, as he quickly heard someone calling him.

The 23-year old turned to see Staples striding towards him, an unhappy look on his face.

"Potter!" he called once more. "Got time for a word?" asked the huge man.

Harry gave Staples a critical once-over before turning slightly and nodding to his aides, who bowed low to him and Staples before walking away. Now alone with the most dangerous of the Five Lords, Harry asked his question.

"What's the matter, Admiral?" he asked.

"Look, Potter," started the general gruffly, "I know you and I have had our squabbles in the past, but—"

"Squabbles?" interrupted Harry disbelievingly. "Staples, you _shot_ me! In the leg! _Twice!_ Remember?"

Staples shrugged. "Like I said, squabbles. After all, we were young, and in the Academy…"

Harry goggled at the man. "Staples, a school squabble usually involves fisticuffs! Not actively trying to _off_ the other!"

Staples shrugged dismissively once more. "Whatever. Anyway, for all our bad past, I think it's best if we bury the hatchet. What do you say?"

Harry, though initially surprised and outraged at Staples' lack of care at their earlier fights, was now feeling suspicious.

"What brought this on?" asked Harry, looking around to make sure no one was eavesdropping.

Staples glared at Harry. "Always with the questions, eh, Potter?" he almost sneered, but managed to keep his cool. "Look, I don't like you. In fact, I find you to be far too much of a peace-lover to ever be a Field Marshall."

"Feeling's mutual," muttered Harry.

Staples ignored the comment. "But if I'm honest with me self, you're the best we've got in the field."

Harry was now very much surprised towards his far more brutal counterpart. Despite the reluctant tone with which Staples had delivered it, Harry knew that admitting this was killing the larger man.

Confusing Harry's silence for refusal, Staples pushed on. "Look, out of the five of us, you're the youngest by nearly a whole decade, and still, you've reached this high on the ranking system!" explained Staples. "Also, out of the five of us, you have the largest fleet. McDonald doesn't have the funds, I don't have the bases, Sulu's practically landlocked, and O'Connor's a wimp."

Harry had to agree with much of Staples' assessment, which surprised the young Potter heir. He'd always seen Staples give out dumb, simple answers, not eloquent analyses like this one.

"What's the catch?" he asked, suddenly suspicious. "If I agree to bury the hatchet, what's the catch?"

Staples glared at him briefly. "In return, all I want is your help in attacking the American mainland," bit out Staples, somewhat angry that he'd needed to reveal himself this way.

Harry scowled. "You _know_ we can't do that!" hissed out the Marshall. "The Conclave's in agreement to provide surgical strikes! _Not_ mass attacks!"

Staples flushed. "And what good would that do?" demanded the larger man. "Everything we destroy, they'll rebuild! If we take territory, though, we can halt their production _permanently_!"

"We'd both be branded traitors to the Oath!" shot back Harry. The Oath in question was the one the Five Lords had taken at the first Conclave, on Ascension Island (which McDonald had chaired), which bound the five to obey and respect the decisions made by the meeting. "We'd be stripped of honour and our armies!"

Staples snorted. "Or we could be seen as heroes!" he riposted. "Besides, doing this would take care of the American pressure you're feeling up North," baited Staples. "If the Americans are too busy licking their wounds from one, well-planned strike, you could go ahead and finish off the Death Eaters in New Brunswick, securing Nova Scotia in the process!"

Harry weighed the idea in his mind. Staples was providing him with a tantalizing prize: more territory and victory in Canada. Both would definitely secure his position in the Conclave, as victory in both would make exiling him a suicidal move.

On the other hand, everything could go badly, and Harry could lose everything. Eventually, after struggling with the idea for a while, Harry looked up at Staples.

"I'll think about it."

* * *

And think on it, Harry did.

For the next four days of the conference, during which all manner of topics were brought up under Harry's supervision, Staples' offer had plagued his conscious nearly 99 of the time, causing his friend Sulu to often have to clear his throat to catch Harry's attention.

Even now, in the morning of the sixth day of the conference, Harry was indecisive. The black haired young man glanced down to his right and saw Allison sleeping soundly on his bed, while he sat up against the wooden frame, pondering Staples' offer. He'd taken Allison to his bed last night as a way to let go of his frustration, and ended up driving Allison to ecstasy, while he remained unsure of his course.

Harry gazed at the mirror across the room and saw his reflection looking right back. For some reason, the image got him thinking along lines he'd long abandoned.

'Perhaps I've been too cautious,' he thought. 'Perhaps I've let my ambition drive me to neglect my higher duty to the Empire'

The thought disturbed him greatly. Had he truly wandered so far down the path of decadence?

Deep down, he realized, he already knew the answer.

Yes.

After the fall of Britain, he'd given up—abandoned the Imperial cause, using it only as an excuse to wage his personal war of revenge and profit against the Death Eaters. He'd become corrupted by the enormous powers his people had bestowed upon him.

The worse part was that he'd forgotten why he'd become so ferocious an opponent to the Death Eaters.

The Venati.

He now knew why he'd stopped having the normal headaches and flashbacks of his horrible encounter with the creatures of darkness.

'I've allowed myself to become the one thing I've fought my whole life…' he realized in horror. 'A pirate…traitorous scum…'

Harry allowed himself to bury his face in his hands. What had he been doing all this time? How could he have allowed himself to fall into these depths of depravity? Whatever had happened to Honour and Empire?

Harry's fury, shame, and disappointment quickly caused a small tornado of magical energy to form up around him, causing his hair to billow every which way, while at the same time, waking Allison up.

"What's going on?" yelled the older girl as she grabbed the covers and kept herself wrapped up, watching the tornado fling objects everywhere.

Gradually, however, the tornado died down, and Harry was left breathing deeply. For the first time in five years, he felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. His head was now clear, and his path lay obvious in his mind.

Harry lifted his head from his hands and, not paying attention to the slightly distressed Allison, calmly put on his uniform.

"Your Grace, what is going on?" asked Allison frantically, just as Harry finished tying his hair back.

The youngest Field Marshall in history turned around and Allison was struck by the fresh determination in Harry's eyes.

"Mrs. McIntyre," he announced formally, "I thank you for your previous personal services. However, it is time we ended this," he told her.

Allison oddly felt relieved at the announcement. After some personal digging, she later concluded that it was because she knew her master had finally healed. Her attention was drawn back to Harry, however, as the younger man swept out his arm.

"Call up the _Retaliation_," he ordered. "I will be ending the meeting today. Then, full sail towards New Britannia. Also, call up the North, South, and Western Fleets—tell them to meet halfway to New Britannia. Furthermore, tell the Imperial Shipyards that any_Resolution_ Class ships ready to sail are to be put to see to meet us off the coast of Harrisburg, understood?"

Allison nodded almost unconsciously, entranced by the revived spark in Harry's eyes.

"Sir," she managed to say, "what reason should I give for the convocation?"

Harry merely gave Allison a feral grin.

"Why, war, of course."

* * *

Two hours later, Harry did exactly what he said he'd do. The raven-haired Marshall caught the other warlords by surprise by ending the Conclave a day early, citing pressing affairs. Only Staples, who had given him the offer, and Sulu, with whom Harry got along best, had any idea of any sort about why he'd cancelled the meeting.

Which was why, upon the meeting's conclusion, the two ambushed Harry in the hallway that led to the NBLF docks.

"What was _that_ all about, Potter?" demanded Staples.

"I am curious of the same thing, Marshall," added Sulu.

Harry glanced at the two briefly. "I have affairs to deal with in the west."

Sulu had a look of revelation on his face, while Staples continued to look confused, and not mildly irritated.

"You cannot do this," warned Sulu. "The Conclave has spoken! There must be no war!"

Harry now glared at his friend. "Why not, Sulu?" he demanded. "Why can there be no war? Do we not owe it to the Empire to stop acting on the defensive and go back onto the offensive?"

"You agreed!" reiterated Sulu. "You agreed there could be no war!"

"My commitment to the Empire overrides that!"

"Do not speak to me of the Empire!" spat Sulu. "You, just like the rest of us, delved into the spoils of it! You, like the rest of us, carved your own territory for your own gain, from _Imperial_ lands!"

"And I repent for it now," shot back Harry, in a convincing display of regret. "Do you know what I saw when I woke up today and looked into the mirror, John? Do you?"

Silence.

"I saw a pirate!" he told his friend. "A filthy, flesh-picking pirate who's turned his back on everything he once believed and upheld!"

"It is the times, Harry," Sulu spoke softly. "Honour, duty, and Empire no longer go with the times."

"That's bullshit, and you _know_ it!" spat Harry. "It's no longer with the times if we refuse to make it be with the times! Republics, democracies, tyrannies—these have always existed, so why can't the Empire?"

Sulu stayed silent at that, but held a contemplative look on his face. Meanwhile, Harry turned to Staples, who was toothily grinning down at him.

"You've decided, then," was all the human mountain said. Harry nodded.

"I've allowed myself to wither away for too long," said Harry. "I'm mobilizing everything I have."

Staples nodded his shaggy head. "And my men will back you up. Just name the time and place."

"I will be launching my offensive on the central coastline," Harry told him. "The North, South, and West Fleets will be in on this. We commence the attack as soon as I'm there."

Staples nodded. "Then me and my men will help. We'll take the West coast. That ought to distract them."

"I cannot join you," stated Sulu regretfully. "I do not have the manpower or fleet to be of any use. However, I can make sure O'Connor and McDonald don't banish you from the Conclave."

Harry nodded gratefully at his friend, while Staples gave him a grudging look of respect.

"Always knew you had some sort of backbone, Sulu," grumbled the huge Irishman. "Good to see it's back."

"Your compliments are endearing, Admiral."

Harry laughed at that. He then grabbed his hat from underneath his arm and set the black tricorne on his head firmly before giving his two comrades a firm nod, which they returned.

"Very well," announced Harry, "to war, then, gentlemen."

* * *

_AN: Yes, as many of you can imagine, the Conclave meetings are pointless. However, they were designed to merely give the façade of unity amongst the warlords. As most of you can imagine, ambition is the new coin of the Empire, and so loyalty to a dead throne is merely a public relations ploy for more men and money.  
_


	6. Chapter VI: Battle of Norfolk

_AN: Alrighty, folks, here's the next chapter. That being said, following are some notes._

_Harry: I know many of you disliked what I did with Harry's post-Fall actions. Yes, he was decadent, and yes, he was becoming very self-absorbed; he was, however, being human. How many of us would have held out as long as he did before finally delving headlong into indulgence? How many of us can claim to have the sort of willpower to resist that temptation for an infinite amount of time? By allowing Harry to slide, then, I made him fallible--which would show you, dear audience, that the image of the perfect, fighting, selfless, Pro-Empire Iron Duke that the rest of his world seem to see is only a ploy created by the real man.  
_

_Harry-Ginny Romance: Please remember that this is not strictly a romance story, but rather one of war, the horrors that come with it, and socio-political change. If that's not your cup of tea, then I'm sorry. The romance between Harry and Ginny, while very relevant to the plot, is still, nonetheless, a minor part. That being said, I can confirm that this relationship will not be falling apart. It will have its rough patches, but I can guarantee that the two will remain together, and in love, to the end of my story (and from the vignette that I wrote some time ago from the POV of their descendants, you should all realize that they died happy and in love, too)._

_Prequel: I know I promised one, but I can say this--I will not be working on it until I finish the current story. While the 1991-1997 story is well defined in my mind, I cannot afford to divert my attention from the current storyline, under pain of probably losing track of my desired plot._

_Publicity: I'd like to take this moment to say that I'm very thankful for all the positive reviews (and feedback) being provided, and that nothing makes me work twice as hard as a happy audience. That being said, I've noted a startling decrease in viewers and reviewers among my stats. Now, I'm not one for holding chapters hostage (and I hope I haven't given you that idea), but it would be nice to see more readers reviewing, if only to tell me perhaps what they liked about the story, or (politely said) what they would wish to see different. Remember, I'm not a professional, and feedback is always good. I ask you, then, to spread the word about this fic, so that I may get what I desire. _

_ Special Note: I'm currently in the midst of writing a paper for one of my history classes which has me in a bit of a quandary, as far as testimonies go. That being said, I would like to know whether any of my readers from Canada, Australia, and Britain would be willing to participate in a small (exceedingly so) survey that would help me get this done. If interested, please contact me via e-mail. All I'd need is your full name. Not even your address. If you're not comfortable with that, it's also fine to submit it anonymously (though names would give your testimony more credence). No money will go towards this report, or for your participation. **This is strictly voluntary and would not affect this story in any way. **_

_ If you also desire to know more about the report before submitting any information to me (which I wholeheartedly recommend you do, for safety's sake) please feel free to ask me via e-mail. Contact info is in my profile._

* * *

_One Day Later…_

It had taken a full day to gather every ship Harry wanted. Still, despite the delay, Harry watched with pride from atop the observation deck on the _HMIS Retaliation_ as his ships covered the waters all around him. He'd even seen three different _Resolution_-Class ships on the water, mounting a single, huge cannon on their decks.

"Your Grace, the fleet is now fully assembled," Admiral Hawke told him. Harry nodded.

"Divide the fleet in two. I shall take command of one, and you the other," he told the Admiral, who nodded. "Take two of the new ships—say…the_Empire's Grasp_ and the _Scourge_, and attack the city of Annapolis. I'll be taking the _Resolution_ and my half to attack Norfolk."

"Aren't these two locations heavily defended, though, Your Grace?" asked the admiral worriedly.

Harry nodded. "Which is why they'll never see this attack coming. They'll expect us to hit the less defended areas, but never their centre," he explained. "So it's likely that the area is heavily garrisoned, yes, but with inexperienced troops. The better troops must be guarding the less defended areas."

Slowly, Hawke began to nod. "That makes sense, Your Grace."

Harry nodded. "Good, then get your half together and wait for my mark before you force your way into the combat zone."

"How will I know what the signal is, Your Grace?" asked the admiral.

Harry smirked evilly. "Oh, you'll know."

Harry watched as the admiral left, before turning back to the railing and leaning over to look at the looming mainland on the horizon ahead. This was it. This was the moment when he paid his beloved Empire back for all the slights he'd committed in its name.

Pressing the intercom button on the panel in front of him, Harry prepared to deliver his pre-battle speech.

"_Gentlemen, ladies,"_

All throughout the ship, sailors and soldiers alike halted their actions as their commander's voice rung out throughout the intercom.

In the mess hall, men and women of every rank stopped eating and looked towards the speakers.

In the Engine room, the engineers stopped looking at their panels as they heard their leader's voice.

On the command deck, Commodore Wolf smiled to himself as he prepared to be bowled over by yet another rousing speech from his younger leader. He nodded to another the inter-ship communication officer, who promptly patched the speech through to the other ships.

"_Today marks a new day for us. A day of war and death. Of conflict, and victory!"_

Agreeable mumbles broke out throughout the ship.

"_But also, of repentance"_

That stopped most cold. Confusion now lit up the crew's faces.

"_Gentlemen, for five years, I've led our faction to war against the enemy who robbed us of our homes, of our dearly beloved, of our Crown."_

"_For five years, I've led you all, battle after battle, in the name of preserving an Empire that did not exist."_

Outrage broke out throughout the crew, as well as denial. All were assuring their leader that he'd not done any such thing.

"_My friends, I know you are clamouring in denial, but hear me out."_

Eventually, the noise did die down enough and Harry, showing remarkable timing, continued his speech unimpeded.

"_The Empire I led you into battle for was one of profit—of gains and personal wealth. It was one that never existed, for we took no oath to preserve any such Empire."_

Slowly, many a sailor and soldier started to nod and agree, with varying levels of volume.

"_But my friends! I swear you this! Today! On this day! In this one moment of fire and steel, we will right the wrong we've committed! Today, we fight for the ideal that we swore to serve!"_

"_The Empire we serve is not one that can be touched! It is not one we can quantify! We serve liberty, righteousness, justice, equality! WE SERVE THE EMPIRE!"_

The roars of the crew could be heard all throughout the ship, and Harry heard those from the main deck well enough. What surprised him, however, was when he also heard them from the ships surrounding his own. Harry grinned. Wolf must have patched the feed through to the others.

Taking heart from his crew's support, Harry yelled into the comm., "FLY THE COLOURS!"

Throughout every ship in the NBLF Fleet, the cry was passed from soldier to soldier, sailor to sailor, soldier to officer.

Soon enough, small mobs made their way to the top of each command deck, quickly surrounding the flagpole from which the NBLF flag (a Union Jack with the letters NBLF over it) flew. The crowds quickly pulled down the flag and in its stead, hundreds of Union Jacks, of every size, began to fly from the flagpoles.

Harry felt his heart warm as he saw the flags steadily rise up and flap in the wind. He knew that if he looked upwards, a Union Jack would be flying behind him.

This was it. This was when amends were made.

Pressing the intercom button once more, Harry gave his next order.

"The time is now! All ships, full speed ahead!"

* * *

At Norfolk, the garrison there had just woken up when the first shots crashed into their base. Those not instantly woken by the explosions were those who'd been unfortunate enough to be in those buildings that had been hit.

Soldiers rushed out of their barracks as enormous shells soon crashed in, decimating building after building.

At the coastline defences, the cry was given to man every long-range gun and for every ship to set sail to engage the enemy.

To their confusion, however, the British were nowhere in sight. And yet, the shells kept dropping. Cursory glances at the sky also eliminated the idea that it was an air strike.

So where were they?

The Norfolk base was quickly becoming a lifeless crater as shell after shell dropped and released massive Reductor spells. And still no ships were seen on the horizon.

The whole situation had the Norfolk commander nearly frothing in rage. He cursed wildly as he turned his attention from the sea to look in the direction of the Norfolk garrison and only saw a blackened, scorched piece of land.

His attention so turned, however, caused him to become open, and before he could give out another curse to his nearby subordinates, the commander's head suddenly exploded. Every single person on the gun placement turned to watch in horror as hundreds of small transports unloaded the khaki-uniformed troops of the NBLF.

Even more to the point, the man leading them seemed to be none other than the Northern Duke, the Americans' arch nemesis.

As the Americans scrambled to take defensive positions, they watched as the Duke swung his sword down and urged his troops forward.

Then, just as the Americans readied to open fire on the advancing troops, more shells started dropping, and the defenders saw, horrified, as ship after ship began to surface.

Harry grinned as he made his way up the beach, taking note of the weapon silence his enemies were going through. His plan had worked.

Not for the last time, Harry felt beyond pleased at the success of his new _Resolution_ Class ships. He'd commissioned them for this exact sort of situation.

The ships were of a whole new category, too. Unlike the smaller, battleship-like _Retaliation_ ships, who were armed to the tooth, the _Resolution_ Class ships were long-range, shell-based artillery ships, designed for distance support. They were thus called Long Range Strike Ships, or LRSS.

And it was entirely thanks to them that the plan had gone off without a hitch. The LRSS' long range capacity had forced the defenders to keep a wary eye on the horizon, while his smaller, faster transports surfaced closer to the shore and silently unloaded. Thus, when the enemy found out about their landing, it would be too late.

Then, when the enemy began to react, the _real_ fleet would surface nearby and commence short-range artillery bombardment of the coastline defences, thus catching the enemy guns unmanned.

As Harry watched from the beach as the defence platforms were decimated one by one, he turned and gave his men a feral grin. "Onwards, lads!" he encouraged them. "Onwards! For your homes! For your lovers! _For the Empire_! Tally-Ho!"

Harry swung his sword forward once more as he and the rest of the landing army gave a war-cry and charged up the beach. Harry led the attack, with the colour bearers right behind him, flying huge Union Jack flags.

Harry ran up the beach feeling that familiar thrill in his veins. The rush he got from getting into a fight.

As he made his way up towards a sandbagged wall, he felt the rush quicken him, make him stronger. And so, landing one foot over the top of the sandbag wall, he propelled himself down into the awaiting defenders, sword high.

He just hoped Staples was doing his part in distracting the American reinforcements.

* * *

"_FIRE!_"

With thunderous blasts, the _HMS Locker_ let loose its entire cannonade as it sleekly manoeuvred its way past enemy ships. The_Locker_, a refitted ship of the Old Imperial Navy (rebuilt along the same design as the legendary _Flying Dutchman_) was Tybalt "Davy Jones" Staples' flagship, and the mountainous Irishman was cackling gleefully from behind the helm.

Across the waters, Staples' ships and the Americans' got in close and began firing off volley after volley as the Irishman denied the Americans the advantage of their longer ranged guns. The blitzkrieg tactic had completely put the Americans in disarray, as they'd never thought the experienced ex-Imperial admiral would ever pull off such a suicidal move.

Obviously, they didn't know Tybalt Staples.

"Bow cannons!" ordered Staples before letting loose another gleeful laugh as his next cannonade tore holes into yet another American ship.

At the _Locker_'s bow, two hidden compartments slid open as quadruple guns (a signature armament to Staples' ships) were rolled out. They were directly aimed at Staples' original target—the Americans' communication ship.

It was something that had long baffled the Imperial military, but the Americans had, rather than designate a command ship, instead created what the Imperials called a "Comm Ship," where the Americans coordinated the entire battle from.

And it was this ship upon which the _Locker_'s bow guns were now aimed.

Staples gave a feral grin beneath his wet, red beard as he saw the clear shot his guns had. "_FIRE BOW CANNONS!_" he roared, laughing as the tell-tale boom of his old-fashioned (and yet still advanced) guns told him of the doom they were propelling towards the open Comm Ship.

Staples laughed as he watched the shells impact with the Comm Ship's command tower over and over, causing the ship to slowly collapse as explosions began ringing throughout its length. The _USS Inquisitor_, as his lookout had reported the ship was called, soon broke in half as a terrific explosion tore it in half down the middle.

Staples gave another gleeful cackle as he rolled the wheel right.

"The day's ours, boys!" he shouted over the roar of the water, which splashed him as the ship cut into a wave. "All ships, engage the enemy fleet! Fire at will! Leave no ship un-sunk!" he then gave another cackle as he steered his ship towards a particularly juicy-looking target: one of the new ships the Americans had used to sink his ships.

Thinking on his previous order, he allowed another feral grin as he corrected himself. "Belay that last order! All ships, engage and destroy the enemy fleet! But leave the new ones intact! I want them all captured!"

The message so relayed through his Comm station, he then turned his attention to his crew, who were running across the deck, loading and firing the deck cannons.

"_PREPARE TO BOARD!_"

The fight aboard the _USS Fury_ was not going well for the Americans. The crew aboard it had been scrambling to load the guns and open fire on the advancing _Locker_ when the seemingly older ship suddenly began to pick up speed, not to mention the bow cannons kept the _Fury_'s crew hugging the deck.

Then, just as the cannonade was over, the crew was almost immediately overwhelmed as tens of sailors suddenly swung onto the deck and began hacking away at the crew. It became only worse when the deck reverberated when Staples joined the fight himself.

"Ahahahahahahaha!" he cackled. "Who's wanting to take a dip into Davy Jones' Locker?"

The most terrifying aspect about the huge, redheaded Irishman however, was the fact that instead of a conventional sword, he swung around a huge hammer, flinging American sailors off the ships five at a time with a single swing.

Staples suddenly grabbed one American by the head and flung him into a group of oncoming riflemen, who were subsequently bowled over, only to then be crushed by the Irish admiral's hammer.

Thus fighting, Staples hammered his way (literally) towards the bridge, as American sailors tried, in vain, to stop him, firing bullets (which he used his hammer to cover himself from), spells (which he whacked away) and blunt objects (which didn't even hurt him, he was so full of adrenaline).

And so, as Staples hammered his way up the stairs leading to the bridge, Americans trying to push him back in front of him, and Imperial sailors crying out encouragements as they followed their (slightly battle-crazed) leader up the stairs, the amazing story of the new Davy Jones was cemented in history.

* * *

Meanwhile, on the other side of the country, Harry Potter was making the name "The Northern Duke" become cemented permanently in the fears of the American people.

Harry grinned as he slashed left and right with his new sword—a fine rapier gifted to him by the people of Harrisburg when he was raised to Dukedom. With his wand in his left hand, he cast spells here and there, exploding a soldier's head to his front as his rapier dug into the stomach of another.

His face was long-drenched in blood as he, too, began laughing as he cut his way through the enemy throngs.

All around him, his own soldiers were also pushing their way into the defences, jumping down into the trenches atop the beach. Imperial after Imperial jumped down and opened fire with their rifles at the enemy, with some of the more creative ones actively using _every_ part of their weapons to inflict as much damage as they could.

One soldier tackled an American soldier and used the wooden butt of his rifle to bash in the man's skull.

Another swung his empty rifle at an American's head and then crushed the fallen man's neck with his foot.

Yet another saw one of her comrades about to be killed and snuck up behind the American, only to slit his throat with her unsheathed bayonet.

Some of his officers also drew their swords and were making quite the ruckus in the battle.

Harry watched as Neville, in particular, slashed his way through. The young Major slashed left and right gracefully, before ducking down to avoid a spell, only to twist upwards and slash at the offending wizard's chest. Seeing another soldier about to fire on him, Neville grabbed the wounded man's head and pulled him in front of the bullet, which caused the man's back explode in gore.

Neville quickly and calmly dispatched his shooter with a decapitating slash.

Harry also saw Ernie fight his way through the throngs. The Scottish Captain was grinning as he ducked a spell and brought up a fist, catching the offending caster with an uppercut. The downed enemy soldier merely had a few seconds to clear his head before he realized he was now staring at a pistol's barrel, shortly before his head shot back from the impact of the bullet that killed him.

Susan was another that caught his attention. The attractive redhead had somehow managed to get a hold of two officer-issued pistols, which she was having a grand time firing off around her.

Every male Imperial, save Harry, that saw her absently noted that her shirt was gradually becoming see-through with all the sweat that was accumulating there. However, a simple glare from Neville, who was then holding up a severed head, was enough to divert attention from his girlfriend.

With the Imperials' combined efforts, the deployed troops managed to push the Americans further and further back. Eventually, the Americans were pushed into a warehouse, where they holed themselves up in such a way that Harry knew that any further incursion would leave him with many dead.

"They look scared!" observed Neville as he stood by his commander, panting.

To his other side, Harry heard Susan giggle between pants, making Harry grin evilly as Ernie laughed behind them.

Turning to Ernie, Harry nodded, "Why don't we relieve them of their fear, then?" he jaunted, making everyone laugh.

As the Imperials laughed behind their cover, Ernie was busy calling up Seamus, who was stationed on the _HMS_ _Resolution_.

"Roger. Confirm: Quadrant Four, Sector Sixteen-Alpha," echoed Seamus into his communicator. After receiving confirmation from Ernie, the Irishman turned and gave the firing officer a thumbs up.

"Quadrant Four, Sector Sixteen-Alpha…locked on target!" announced the targeting technician.

"Elevation set at Level Four!"

Seamus nodded. "Fire for effect!" he ordered loudly.

The crew of the Long Range Artillery Gun (LRAG) turned their eyes away as the huge cannon made a thunderous roar as its shell was propelled in a bright, fiery blast from its mouth. Had the ship not been well anchored, Seamus had no doubt that the entire vessel would have been rocked off course by the mere blast.

Back at the enemy base, Harry watched with the rest of his army as the warehouse stood silent, numerous wands and rifles poking out of holes here and there, waiting for the Imperial soldiers to charge forward.

Unfortunately for them, they had once again forgotten of the awesome firepower of the LRSS.

About half a minute after Ernie made the call, Harry heard the distinct whistle of the incoming shell, prompting him to cry out, "COVER!"

Just as the Americans figured out what the Imperial commander had shouted, however, the LRAG shell crashed into the warehouse. The detonation decimated the entire structure as the Fire/Reductor compound shell exploded. The metal of the walls melted due to the fire as the concrete was reduced to dust due to the Reductor.

Fortunately for the Imperials, however, Harry's warning was well-heeded, and all had ducked as soon as the order was given.

Standing up, Harry gave a satisfied nod as all that remained before him was a blackened crater.

Turning around, Harry looked at his silent troops for a moment before stabbing upwards with his rapier and shouting, "Victory!"

The resounding answering chant of "Victory!" lasted for ten minutes.

* * *

_AN: I admit, the "Fly the colours" scene was very much inspired (though not taken directly) from the similar scene in PotC 3._


	7. Chapter VII: Discoveries Amongst Ruins

_AN: Sorry for the holdup, lads and lasses! Just started the new term at the university, so it's been a bit hectic. That being said, the following are notes regarding some concerns given by several readers._

_The United States: No, I carry no grudge towards the US as a nation. As a matter of fact, as a people, Americans fascinate me. While I cannot say this applies as much towards present generations, past generations of Americans have nonetheless captured my admiration, with a few exceptions (Old Hickory Jackson being one of them). Let me assure you, my dear readers, that I did not arbitrarily choose the US as the "villains" of this story (of which the only ones, thus far, are the Death Eater and Venati). I took my time and decided on them after deciding that using the Latin Americans as villains (this was a serious consideration of mine) would be too cliché (not to mention impractical, considering their low-tech status--same with the Africans)._

_Let me also remind you that **not every American is pro-Death Eater. There are several, MAJOR resistance cells throughout the country fighting the government.**_

_Death Eater Offensives: This was a note made by blunight17. I understand that the state of the world I provide may sound confusing. That being said, I actually bought a map (a massive one) and scribbled on it with all the major movements made. So, let me try to make it as comprehensible as possible._

_DE Offensives: 1. Vs. British Imperial Canada (NS, NB, BC); 2. Vs. British Imperial Oceania (Sydney, Melbourne, West Australia, NZ); 3. Vs. British Imperial Africa (South Africa); 4. Vs. British Imperial Europe (Gibraltar, Irish Resistance); 5. Vs. British Imperial Caribbean (Caribbean, Falkland Islands)_

_**US** Offensives: 1. Vs. British Imperial Canada (NS, NB, BC); 2. Vs. Latin Confederacy of Free States; 3. Vs. British Imperial Oceania (Sydney, Melbourne, West Australia, NZ); 4. Vs. British Imperial Caribbean (Caribbean only)_

_BE Offensives: 1. Vs. Death Eaters (British Isles, Egypt, US, Canada); 2. Vs. United States Collaborators_

_LCFS Offensives: 1. Vs. South American Conclave (Pro-DE West); 2. Vs. United States Collaborators; 3. Vs. Rogue Caribbean British Pirates (Caribbean Imperial Remnant)_

_Also, a fun note. I received, today, my first flame regarding the Dark Wars series. For my reply to said flame, please visit my profile._

_Let me be clear--I'm done trying to explain why Harry and Ginny are married. Please, **grow up**._

_Cheers,_

_Marquis Black _

* * *

Hours later, Harry was sitting on the least-destroyed chair they could find in the base, his feet propped up on the former Base Commander's desk, in the former soldier's office.

The place, Harry had to admit, was banged up all to hell. Of course, several rounds of his _Retaliation_-class ships would do that to a building, which was how he dealt with the constant lack of a north wall in his office.

Looking through the huge infrastructural cavity, Harry could see smoke still rising from former buildings, as unexploded chemicals and ammunition slowly caught fire and exploded. He'd given specific orders to his men to be _very_ careful around the ammunition depot.

His contemplations, however, were interrupted when a harried-looking Captain burst into the room, followed quickly by a couple of soldiers carrying huge paper stacks. Harry almost groaned aloud as he lay eyes on what he assumed was paperwork. To his delight (and future horror), however, that was not to be as they simply dumped it all on his desk and the Captain began to babble at full speed about a subject Harry couldn't quite make out.

Raising his hands for the Captain to stop, Harry said, "Calm down, Captain. Breathe, man," he soothed the harried officer. The man nodded slowly and took a deep breath, swallowing in the process, before a nod from Harry got him talking again—this time, more slowly.

"I was with my company, Your Grace, and…well…we found something," the officer tried to explain.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Found something? Do try to explain yourself more fully, Captain," he chided. "The Imperial Army does not run on vague statements."

The officer nodded apologetically. "Yes, Your Grace." He then dove right back into the matter at hand. "We were patrolling the fourth north-western quadrant, Your Grace, when we stumbled on a bunker, of sorts," he motioned towards the papers, "we found these inside."

Harry nodded shortly as he took one of the papers and, propping up his glasses, rose an eyebrow at the heading.

"American Cooperation Bureau," he read aloud before putting it down and looking up sternly at the officer. "A Death Eater liaison outpost."

The officer nodded. "Correct, your Grace. The staff must've been bunked with the rest of the Americans, because we found no one inside, and all documents intact."

Harry's eyebrows rose in pleasant surprise. "How fortunate. Did you, or any of your men, sift through the documents?" he asked next.

The captain nodded. "We did, Your Grace," said the man before looking distinctly uncomfortable. "It was…"

Harry smiled grimly at the man's loss for words. "Sick? Perverse? Dishonourable, hypocritical tripe?"

"Interesting," the captain settled for. "What was even more interesting, however, Your Grace, is the stack of documents to your right."

Harry rose a questioning eyebrow before taking the first piece of paper from that stack and began reading.

_By order of the Commander-In-Chief…blah, blah, blah…_

Harry skipped ahead a few paragraphs, avoiding the typical, procedural jargon. Ending the page with nothing interesting, Harry grabbed the next paper and read through that one. Nothing caught his attention at first, until he read the final two lines.

_Assistance in Imperial Annihilation_

_Operation Regicide_

Harry's eyes widened as he quickly made to grab the next paper. He quickly read right through it, and went after the next paper, and the next, and the next, until he'd finished reading the stack, over an hour later.

When he was finally done, Harry's eyes were bulging, his jaw was dropped, and his mind was on overload.

"These…these pigs…" he whispered, shock evident on his face. "…they've been in on this for over _six_ years!"

Harry didn't even see the captain nod solemnly, as the soldiers tried to mask their fury by putting on stony façades.

"It gets worse" announced the captain as he took out a folded piece of paper from his pouch and handed it over to Harry. "I found that hidden in the Head of the bunker's office."

Harry quietly took the piece of paper from the officer and carefully, and slowly, opened it and began to read it. Once more, Harry felt his eyes bulge.

"This is a list…" he whispered horrified at the implications of what he was seeing.

"Of every heir to the Imperial throne," finished the captain, nodding in agreement. "Your Grace, the Major and I agree that this can only mean one thing."

"They've been hunting the heirs down," stated Harry numbly, getting to the same conclusion. The officer nodded sadly.

"There may be still some alive, Your Grace," reassured the officer as he saw his commander's despondent face.

Harry gave a mirthless chuckle. "They've had over six years, Captain. It's unlikely a single heir is left."

"But that's over six hundred people!" sputtered the captain. "Surely, _one_ of them must have survived!"

Harry shook his head as he crumpled up the paper and grabbed his head in dismay. "Don't you see, captain?" asked Harry. "They've been conducting a systematic extermination of our line of succession! Using the Americans as their searching tools, the Death Eaters must've pinpointed each one and hunted them down."

"But, we would have heard!"

Harry shook his head. "Other than the forty or so in direct line to the throne, none of the others would have raised a red flag if the murder was done outside of Great Britain," explained Harry. "When the final blow came during the Fall of London, they merely wiped out the forty we _would_ have noticed."

"So the Crown…?" asked the captain fearfully, as another officer entered the room, looking excited.

"Is dead, yes. We've failed," answered Harry glumly.

"Not necessarily," cut in a voice, stopping the two Imperial officers from delving into their misery. Harry, the captain, and the two soldiers turned to look at an excited Brigadier Wolfe.

"What do you mean, Wolfe?" asked Harry, curious despite himself.

"There's no easy way to explain this, sir. You'll have to come see for yourself!"

* * *

An hour later, Harry was still in a jeep, driven by Wolfe, racing down a dirt path in a forest.

"What exactly is so important you need to show me, John?" asked Harry over the engine's dull roar. "And why is it so far away?"

"You'll see!" was all Wolfe answered. "We're getting near now!"

Harry merely grunted as he watched the trees rush by. Soon, however, Harry saw that the tree coverage was thinning, and they soon arrived in a grove, where Harry saw something that made him say, "What the hell is that?" under his breath.

Before Harry was a barbed-wired fence that enclosed a fairly large area, inside of which were several structures, which Harry assumed were for housing, and a small building around the centre, which Harry guessed was for the base commander and his staff.

"Wolfe…is this…"

"A concentration camp? Yes, Your Grace," confirmed Wolfe as he pulled the car over, to where a scouting party of about twelve soldiers were waiting. "The lads there found it three hours ago and reported it. I came here, saw it, and sped back to find you. Thought you might be interested, Your Grace," admitted Wolfe.

Stepping out of the confiscated jeep, Harry nodded dumbly as he walked towards the fence. "I don't believe this…" he whispered, shocked. "They would fall this low?"

"You seem shocked, sir," observed Wolfe confusedly.

Harry shook his head. "Back in the day…Americans used to be considers as the upholders of justice, remember?" he reminded the older man. "This was the land of freedom, the home of the brave, as they said," he continued, before looking sadly at the sight before him. "But now…look at this. And all in the name of survival."

Even knowing that the Americans had helped the Death Eaters, Harry had always held out hope that perhaps the Americans were being forced into it. After all, they had a proud legacy to uphold. But now, seeing the camp in front of him, that hope came crashing down.

"Contact Staples and Sulu," Harry ordered curtly at length. His eyes were now hard. "Tell them what we found. All Army and Navy personnel are to give no quarter to the enemy anymore."

Wolfe nodded firmly, never questioning the Duke's orders, bloody though they were. Out of Harry's entire officer corps, Wolfe, Neville, Susan, Ernie, Seamus, the McIntyres, and Hawke were the most fanatical of his supporters, and would never question any of his orders, be they of slaughter, or more personal requests.

While Wolfe made his call, Harry, for his part, had turned to speak to the sergeant in charge of the scouting party.

"Have you gone inside, sergeant?" asked Harry.

The sergeant shook his head. "Thought it best to wait for you, Your Grace,"

"Have you at least _seen_ anyone?"

"Inside the buildings, sir. They'll peek through the window every now and then."

Harry nodded and turned when he heard the tell-tale sign of truck engines, pleased when he saw his requested backup arrive in the confiscated American Army trucks. The soldiers within quickly got out the back and massed near Harry, with Neville and Susan throwing hard salutes as they walked up to Harry.

Harry casually saluted back. "Good to see you two. Quite a mess we've got here."

Neville nodded firmly, along with Susan. "What are your orders, Your Grace?"

Harry swept his arm towards the camp. "Send it your men and secure the facility. Then, I want every prisoner inside to go through a medical check-up. Refrain from giving them food and water until the Head Healer has had a chance to give his ultimatum."

Neville and Susan both saluted and returned to their troops to give the orders. Soon, the back of the trucks were let loose as soldiers jumped off the back of the trucks and pooled at the entrance. The group waited until one of their own came forward with shears and cut open the chains holding the door closed. Two soldiers then proceeded to push open the doors as the rest poured into the camp warily.

Neville was among the first into the camp and, holding his gun pointed upward, motioned with his free hand for the 1st and 2nd platoons to spread right and left respectively, while the third would follow him through the centre.

As Neville proceeded further in, he began to notice people looking fearfully out the window of several of the barrack-like structures. He knew any movement towards them, armed as he was, would probably frighten them, so he turned towards one of his men and said, "Go back to the truck and fetch the colours! Plant it within full view of the prisoners, so they can see we aren't the enemy!"

The soldier off to do his duty, Neville returned his attention to the task at hand, and his platoon began moving once more towards the central building. As soon as they reached running distance from the door, Neville raise a fist and the column halted. Neville turned and picked out five men by pointing.

"You five," he ordered, "take point. We'll follow after the first clear, understood?"

The five men saluted in response. Nodding, Neville gave them the go ahead and the five crowded around the door briefly, before one of them stepped back and kicked it open, the four others converging into the building as soon as the door was open.

Neville waited impatiently for the clear sign, and was rewarded at length when he heard the cry of, "Clear!" from within the building. Raising a hand and motioning forward, Neville and the rest of the platoon quickly converged into the building, going room by room to make sure there were no enemy stragglers.

A full hour later, Neville left the building, satisfied that the building was clear. He undid his helmet strap and tucked the copper-coloured helmet under his arm, wiping his sweaty brow with his sleeve. He was soon joined by Susan, who look far less exhausted than him.

"Clear?" she asked.

Neville nodded. "Clear. What about Second Platoon?"

Susan took out her wand and cast the communication charm, making her eyes glaze momentarily, before she snapped out of it and told him, "Clear."

Neville nodded. "Alright, time to let the boss know."

* * *

"So?" asked Harry four hours later, just as the Head Healer had finished his inspection. "What's the call, doctor?"

The healer looked disgusted as he let his eyes wander towards the camp. "They're positively starved, Your Grace," declared the healer. "In fact, another week of this condition and they would've all died. By my analysis, they must've been starved for…about two weeks now."

Harry's face became a mirror image to the healer's own as he allowed himself to look at the camp. "Pigs,"

"Quite," the healer agreed with a nod. "However, in order to treat the prisoners more effectively, I'm going to need them to be transported to the field hospital we've got going at the old Norfolk base."

Harry nodded and motioned for his closest aide. "Have these poor folk evacuated to the hospital in Norfolk as soon as possible," he ordered.

"Yes, sir!"

Harry briefly watched as his aide ran off to relay the orders before turning his attention back to the healer. "How many are we taking with us?"

The healer shrugged as he wiped his hands clean of the blood they had on them from trying to operate on a man who'd suffered a stroke upon seeing the British invade the camp. "By my count, Your Grace, we've got one thousand, two hundred and thirty-five people alive enough to get well with minimal medical attention. There are, however, fifty who need severe medical attention, and fifteen who've died. The lads are burying those."

Harry nodded. "So thirteen hundred, eh?" he mused. "I wonder if Admiral Hawke found a similar camp up north?"

The healer shrugged. "Possible, but unlikely, sir. Having two camps so near to the coast and each other is never a smart thing. More likely than not, this one is a temporary camp, to store prisoners until space becomes available elsewhere."

"Like cattle," summarized Harry, disgusted at the Americans' actions.

"Quite," agree the healer.

Harry shook his head. "I would have never imagined the Americans to stoop so low."

"Well, I wouldn't say they _all_ did this," protested the healer. "More likely than not, a good three dozen of those chaps you're sending to the hospital are American protesters."

Harry reluctantly had to agree with that assessment. "You're right, doctor."

The healer smiled. "It's always easier to hate a group, isn't it? It makes the guilt far easier to deal with when you finally put the bullet in their brainpan," the healer remarked wisely.

Harry chuckled grimly. "Too true, doctor. Too true."

Just then, one of Neville's soldiers came running up to Harry and the Head Healer.

"Sir!" gasped the soldier as he reached the two. "Sir, you need to hear this!"

"What? What is it?" asked Harry urgently. The man's frazzled appearance was putting him on edge. "Well? Speak up, man!"

The soldier took a deep, calming breath. "Sir, it's unbelievable! The…the prisoners!"

"What about them?" asked the Healer.

"They…they claim to know where an Imperial heir is!" said the soldier joyfully. "Sir, an heir has survived!"

Harry felt his jaw drop. Could it be? Quick like a snake, Harry grabbed the soldier by the arms roughly. "Are you sure? Are you_positive_?" asked Harry, with not a small amount of trepidation.

The soldier nodded quickly. "Yes, sir! The prisoners were all demanding to know what had happened to the heir! They claim the heir's in a camp outside Salt Lake City, in Utah!"

Harry felt the most sincere smile he'd had in years creep up on his face. All was not lost! The Empire could return once more!

"Soldier, I want you to spread the word," Harry told the man seriously. "Tell everyone you can of this. Long has it been since we've had such hope!"

The soldier seemed just as moved by the event as Harry was, if the glistening of the man's eyes were any evidence. "Y-Yes, sir!"

Harry watched as the soldier ran off to tell his mates the news, while Harry turned to look at the Healer happily.

"Finally,"

The healer nodded. "We should move quickly, though," cautioned the Healer. "War is not unlike medicine. Now that the enemy knows we're here, he'll try to attack our weakest link—in this case the Imperial heir."

Harry was stunned that he hadn't thought of that. He began cursing wildly as he took out his wand and cast a communication charm on himself.

"All troops, speed up the evacuation process and converge on sector five in the third quadrant!" he ordered.

"Prepare for blitzkrieg attack into the American heartland!"

* * *

"Ye've found _what_?" demanded Staples.

"The Imperial heir? You're sure?" asked Sulu at the same time.

Harry nodded to Sulu and glared at Staples. The three had met upon Harry's insistence on the _HMIS Retaliation_, Harry's flagship, mere hours after Harry had found out about the Imperial heir. Needless to say, they were stunned.

"Our information seems solid on this affair," assured Harry. "The Imperial heir is in a special camp reserved for the most problematic of prisoners for the Death Eaters and Americans."

"But why has the heir been kept alive?" demanded Staples. "Death Eaters don't capture! They kill!"

"I must agree with the Admiral," coincided Sulu.

Harry nodded as well. "On most occasions, I'd agree as well, but this may be one event where the Americans have had a more restraining role upon the Death Eaters."

Sulu and Staples mulled over this and eventually nodded, albeit reluctantly.

"It makes sense," conceded Sulu.

"Aye…" agreed Staples. "So what's the plan?"

Harry nodded to Sulu. "Sulu, your men are the best at ground assault. I'm going to need you to directly rescue the heir, while Staples and I provide aerial cover."

Sulu nodded. "I believe I can spare the manpower. Perhaps the Thirty First Egyptian Legion and the Sixty Fourth Congo Grenadiers?"

Harry nodded, pleased. "More than enough. Staples?"

The huge Irishman stroked his red beard as he pondered on the vessels he possessed. "Well…the _Locker_'s good to go…and I guess I can spare the Oceania Battle Group."

"What about O'Connor and McDonald?" suddenly asked Sulu.

"We can't trust them," said Harry, shaking his head. "the two have always been a bit iffy, McDonald even more so."

Staples grunted his agreement. "Aye, always looking for some way to get richer, those two."

Sulu reluctantly agreed.

"Back to the plan, though," said Harry. "Staples and his fleet will move over cloud cover until they've reached the concentration camp, at which point I want you to come down and rain fire on the nearby garrison. Keep the Americans and Death Eaters occupied while we get there."

"Right," grunted Staples.

"Meanwhile," continued Harry, "my fleet and I will transport Sulu to the concentration camp. Once there, Sulu and his men will debark through the use of our transports and rescue the heir. Once the heir is secured, they will return to the transports for evacuation towards Harrisburg."

"Right," agreed Sulu

"Hold on a minute!" interrupted Staples suddenly. "Why does the heir have to be with you, Potter?" demanded the Irishman. "Why can't the heir stay with me, or Sulu?"

"Admiral, don't be ridiculous," chided Sulu. "The Marshall has more troops than either of us, as well as Professor Eisenheim and most of the Archangel crew. Harrisburg is the most secure city in Imperial possession," reminded the dark-skinned general.

"New Atlantis is secure!" protested Staples

"Really?" asked Sulu doubtfully, an elegant eyebrow arched. "You've been to Harrisburg before, Admiral. You've seen the MEG Propelled Guns. One salvo from those and most ships would be torn asunder. Tell me, how many of _those_ do you have?"

"None," mumbled the Irishman. "But they can be built!"

"And in the meantime, the Death Eaters and Americans will lay siege on New Atlantis!" riposted Sulu. "As a matter of fact, you already _are_ under siege! You've been under siege for over six months!"

"We're still fighting, aren't we?" growled Staples.

"Yes, but it is not a safe place to keep the heir. Harrisburg is the only city they haven't found yet."

Staples muttered under his breath but didn't object to the assessment. "Fine, then," he grudgingly acceded. "Harrisburg it is."

Harry nodded, satisfied with the results. "Very well, then. Gentlemen, we begin two hours after Sulu's men have arrived."

The two men nodded in response.

Looking at them, Harry raised his fist to his chest and solemnly intoned, "Empire Forever"

Staples smirked and, fist to chest, said instead, "Rule Britannia"

Sulu, for his part, said, "Peace, Empire, and Justice"

With a final nod between them, the three Imperial officers turned and left in their own direction.

* * *

_AN: Based heavily on the Band of Brothers Episode "Why we Fight"_


	8. Chapter VIII: Once More, Into the Breach

_AN: I figured that, after such huge delays, I should post a chapter sooner than before, so here goes! Part 1 of the epic Battle of Salt Lake City! _

* * *

_Harrisburg…_

Harry watched as the docking crew began loading crates of unspecified materials onboard the _Retaliation_. According to Eisenheim and Bill Weasley, who'd been taken under Eisenheim's wing, it was a surprise for the Imperial forces. According to Bill, the two had been driving their scientists round the clock in order to invent these. He'd granted that they weren't up to par with Roberts-issued weaponry, but it was "good enough" for the job.

"Careful with that!" he heard Bill Weasley urge the loading crew. "We wouldn't want an explosion, now would we?"

That seemed to pierce the monotone minds of the loading crew, and the five men pulling on the rope suddenly began taking far more caution as they slowly hauled the crates up.

Bill turned to grin at Harry. "Once you get the right words out, it's easy as pie," he told the younger man.

Harry chuckled. "Indeed. A nice death threat _does_ do wonders on discipline."

Bill laughed along with Harry at that. When the two sobered up, however, Bill turned pleading eyes on Harry. "Harry, you wouldn't have heard anything about…?"

Harry sighed. Bill asked him this question every time an expedition set out. "I'm sorry, Bill, but no word on either Charlie or your family."

Bill's shoulders slumped at that, though he quickly masked his disappointment. "I guess I'm hoping too hard, what?" he asked ruefully. Harry shook his head.

"It's never a bad thing to hope, Bill. I still hope every day that my family, my _wife_, is safe," remarked Harry. And indeed he did. Ever since his revelation hit him, he'd gone to sleep each night only after he prayed to whatever deity there be that his wife and family was safe and sound.

Bill smiled nostalgically at the thought of his baby sister. "Well," he said eventually, having recovered his composure, "you know what to do if you hear of them. I'll be with Eisenheim in his lab working. As always."

Harry chuckled. "Indeed. Good luck, Bill."

Bill grinned at Harry. "No, good luck to _you_. You're going to need it."

* * *

_Somewhere over the United States…_

Elijah Shepard had always loved flying.

Even as a toddler, his favourite toys had always been something with wings, a fact that had alerted his parents to Elijah's future career. So it was no surprise when, at the age of 19, Elijah had enlisted and been accepted into the Royal Air Force.

That had been five years ago.

Now, Elijah was one of the squadron leaders for the flight complement on Admiral Hawke's flagship, the _HMIS Redemption_. It had been a jump up the career ladder for the pilot, but he'd taken to the job like a fish takes to water. Thus, he now led the Black Knights squadron.

And it was the Black Knights that had been assigned the task to run escort to the flying armada, with Elijah and his wingmate, Knight 2, in point.

Elijah was having a splendid day, too, as the Imperial Research Laboratory had finished building the first four dozen prototypes of new fighter planes. Only, the word that needed to be used was craft, as the wings were reduced in size to mere bumps on each side of the chassis. The lab crew called it the Lambda, due to its vaguely Lambda-shaped body.

And, earning itself new weaponry to go with the new design, the ship was given two quadruple gun placements on the wing stubs on either side, as well as fourteen of the new heat-seeking ME Missiles, known as HS-ME missiles.

In addition to their new weaponry, the Lambda craft were far quicker than the old jets the pilots had been used to flying. Of course, that meant a higher level of skill was required, which is why Elijah kept his off-duty pilots in the simulators back on the _Redemption_ at least three hours a day.

Elijah pulled up his fighter so he was eye-level with his wingmate. Elijah tapped his helmet and motioned forward, prompting Knight 2 to nod.

With a determined look, Elijah pulled the thrust lever back as he felt the Lambda fighter speed up slightly. Elijah had decided to go on ahead and scout out the area, just in case.

Banking right, Elijah pushed down on the control column, making him rapidly lose altitude. Elijah didn't mind, he was used to it.

"Knight Leader to _HMIS Retaliation_," announced Elijah through his headset, "I'm preparing my scouting run."

"_HMIS Retaliation_, we hear you, Knight Lead. Green light for scouting mission."

"Roger," replied Elijah as he pushed his fighter into a dive and went into the clouds. After the last ambushes, it had become routine for fighter aircraft to scout out the cloud formations, just in case.

Elijah sped through the clouds rapidly, his eyes alternating between looking out the window, and looking at his enhanced radar.

After five minutes of cruising, Elijah began to feel bored, and leaned his head back, closing his eyes in the process. He promptly began humming a tune under his breath.

He had just going through the second paragraph of lyrics when his proximity alarm blared. Jerking forward, Elijah looked at his radar and felt his eyes widen as he saw the veritable swarm of objects flying around several larger ones. Making a hard turn to the right, he pulled his craft back into the direction of the _Redemption_, hoping to God that the swarm wouldn't follow.

No such luck.

Elijah swore colourfully as he saw several bullet traces shoot past his cockpit. His only hope now was to outrun them, and with that in mind, he pulled the thrust lever as much as he could, pushing the Lambda's engines to their maximum capacity.

Frantically, Elijah activated his headset. "Knight Lead to_Retaliation_! Knight Lead to _Retaliation_!" he shouted into it. "Enemy ambush at ten kilometres from your location! Be advised, large number of American aircraft are in the air!"

At first, Elijah thought despairingly that the ship had not received his message. However, after a minute or so of static, Elijah was relieved when he heard, "_Retaliation_ to Knight Lead. We copy, Knight Lead. Scrambling all available squadrons and moving into attack vector."

Elijah sighed in relief as he cut the comm-link to the Assault Ship. He became even more relieved as he saw the fleet approaching, and a small cloud of smaller objects zooming right for him.

"Knight Two to Knight Lead," came the voice of his wingmate, "We're coming onto your position. Prepare to incorporate into formation."

"Knight Lead to Knight Two, copy that," said Elijah grinningly.

Elijah waited four seconds before pulling up into a U-Turn, only to find himself right where he was supposed to be in the squadron's V-formation.

"Knight Two to Knight Lead; Good to have you back, sir."

"Knight Lead to Black Knights: Thanks a bunch, guys. Now, back to work!" Elijah said, causing much of the squadron to chuckle over the radio. Elijah took one look at his radar and immediately sobered up as the enemy fighters turned to engage them. "Alright, Black Knights. Sound off!"

One by one, the members of the Black Knights called in, until the count came back to him. "Knight Lead, all green. Disengage weapon safety!" he ordered as he did the same and heard the whirr of the several weapon safeties disengage.

"Knight Five, I've got a visual on the enemy. Five kilometres and closing."

"Knight Lead, copy that. Fanning deployment, on mark."

Elijah waited until the enemy was at one kilometre distance (by which time they were firing off clumsy, yet deadly shots) before shouting, "Mark!"

Elijah banked hard to the left as Knight Two led his own wing to the right.

Seeing the amount of fighters passing through their formation, Elijah knew playtime was over. Steeling himself for what was to come, he activated his link to his men. "All pilots, engage at will. Take down as many as you can!"

Banking to the right, Elijah brought his wing behind the enemy and, placing his trigger finger on the trigger, smiled nastily before pressing down and opening fire.

As Elijah barrel-rolled to avoid incoming projectiles from behind, he watched as the cloud cover dissipated and the air below showed they were right above the concentration camp in Utah.

Unlike what they'd expected, however, rather than a measly defence force, they were facing quite the formidable fleet, with Staples' fleet taking a beating at the moment as American-built Death Eater battleships opened fire on the Assault Ships next to them.

"Knight Lead, Knight Lead, calling in _Retaliation_," Elijah grunted as he avoided another projectile shot. "Be advised, fleet is over target! Oceania forces are under heavy attack!"

"Copy, Knight Lead," came back the reply. "Your orders are to move in and provide assistance as possible to the Asian Loyalist League forces"

"Great," muttered Elijah as he cut the link and patched himself to his men. "Knight Lead to Knight Squadron, break off and move in to assist League forces!"

"Knight Two, roger that. Breaking off wing from engagement and moving to assist friendlies."

Reassured by that, Elijah patched himself to his wing. "Alright boys, time to go save the League's butt once more! Break off and dive!"

Not paying attention to the wing's replies, Elijah pulled up and performed a daring loop which ended with his craft plunging down towards the battle below.

The Battle of Salt Lake City had begun.

* * *

_AN: I was wondering. Do any of you, faithful readers, happen to know how to add/edit things on the Wikidot sites? I've registered a wiki to post the visual/historical/statistical information relating to the Dark Wars (and my upcoming original stories), but I'm afraid I'm not quite getting the hang of it...Anyone who knows (or who is willing to learn how to do it) and wishes to help me in this endeavour, please send me a private message so we can work out details. Two-Three people max, however._


	9. Chapter IX: Battle of Salt Lake City

_AN: Please note that the following battle, by the start of the chapter, has been going on for a good while--thus explaining the losses on either side. Also, as many of you will see, the chapter is focused on two things: Jeremy Hawke's actions as Imperial Admiral, and those of the American Admiral, who I shan't name just yet._

_Also, please note that not -all- of the Imperial Fleet is at Salt Lake City. Much of it has had to stay behind and fight off pursuing elements of the US Air Fleet from the push into the heartlands. Thus, only a fraction of it (albeit a powerful fraction) actually fights in this battle._

_Lastly, as a note to any reviewers and readers I have from Utah, let me explicitly state that the Mormons have had -nothing- to do with the POW prison outside of SLC. They are, in fact, among the most adamant resistance fighters against the Collaborator government._

_Cheers,_

_Marquis Black _

* * *

"Gold Five, I'm hit!"

"Iris Two, I can't shake him!"

"Fire Four, I got him, Lead!"

"Alpha Six, bank left, Seven!"

"Opus Nine, eject, Two, you can't take much more damage!"

"Aaaaaaaaargh!"

Hawke scowled as another Lambda icon went dark on his monitor. How the hell had the enemy known to attack here? Who had betrayed the Imperials' secret? How much did they know?

Hawke cursed as the ship shook once more, signalling another hit.

"Damage report!"

"We just took a blow to the bow! Third deck reports fires and decompression!"

"Seal off the damaged portions!" snapped Hawke as he watched two more Lambda fighters disappear from his monitor. "Send a medical squad to heal the wounded on the double!"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

"Concentrate maximum firepower!" he ordered the weapons crewman. "Target the closest battleship's shields."

"Concentrating firepower," announced the technician. "Targeting the USS Defender…"

"Fire at will!" shouted Hawke as another shot made the ship reverberate.

"Firing salvo!"

"Enemy shields down to fifteen percent!"

The ship shook again. "We've been hit! Deck two, sector five reports hull breach!"

"Seal it off!" ordered Hawke. He cursed as another three Lambda fighters went down.

"_Redemption_, this is Alpha Lead! We need help out here! We're dropping like flies!"

"Alpha Lead, this is Admiral Hawke. We're sorry, but you're not the only ones in trouble!"

"Where are our reinforcements?" screamed a voice through the comm channel just before it was cut off by static. Another Lambda sign disappeared.

Hawke looked despondently at the speaker on his console. He hadn't the heart to tell his pilots that there _were_ no reinforcements.

Hawke angrily slammed his fist onto the console. The fleet had no choice if it was to survive. A retreat had to be ordered. The sandy-haired admiral cursed again as he slammed his fist once more, angry tears running down his cheeks. With this failure, it was certain that the Death Eaters would kill the heir.

In Hawke's mind, a vicious debate was raging. What was more worth it? Retreating and losing the one chance to free the Empire's only hope, or go down fighting, preferring death to a life of causeless war?

A voice suddenly broke into his thoughts. "Sir, the Duke calls for you."

"Patch it through," ordered the admiral despondently.

"_Admiral?"_

"I am here, Your Grace."

"_Is your situation akin to the one we're facing?"_

"I'm afraid so, Your Grace."

Silence met that statement.

"_Admiral, I don't think I need to tell you that I will not return to a life of piracy."_

Hawke allowed a small smile to grace his rugged features. "Of course not, Your Grace. The men and I refuse to do so as well."

"_Good. In that case, Admiral, order your group to blitz the enemy formation. I want your ships up and close. If a ship goes critical, make sure it takes out one of the bastards."_

Hawke grinned at that. _That_ was something he could do. "Aye, aye, Your Grace."

"_Good. Retaliation, out."_

As the speaker emitted static, Hawke turned to his men, all of whom seemed torn between excitement, determination, and fear.

"Men, there is little worse than becoming a pirate," he told his men solemnly. "But what _is_ worse it to be a pirate using a cause that has long died as an excuse. That was what we were. But now, we are able to atone for that sin. Now, we either die as British soldiers, or live under a new sovereign, but we will _not_ return to a baseless life of sin and wanton pillaging."

The men on the command deck nodded firmly at their Admiral's words.

"I want you all to think on this carefully. Think about what it means to be British, and make that your reason to fight. Fight for yourselves, your lives, and the Empire," he told them.

Silence ensued after Hawke's impromptu speech, but one by one, the men on the command deck began saluting him rigidly, until everyone was standing at attention. Grateful for the support, Hawke returned the rigid salute before shooting out an arm towards the crewman in charge of the ship's speed.

"Accelerate to double-attack speed."

* * *

"Incoming missiles!"

"BRACE FOR IMPACT!"

Hawke swore as he was jolted off his feet as the whole room shook from the multiple impacts on the hull.

"Fires in sector seven!"

"Send a fire fighter detail!"

"First deck reports multiple breaches near the hangar!"

"Seal those areas!"

"Shields are failing, Admiral!"

Hawke cursed angrily as he slammed his fists on the console. He was losing his ship, and had so far only taken down three ships in return.

"Sir, we cannot sustain anymore damage," warned a nearby crewman. "Hull integrity is down to fifty four percent."

Hawke clamped his hands together in front of him, desperate to think up of some way to turn the tide. Around him, crewmen shouted reports and containment orders, as fighter after fighter sped past the reinforced glass windows of the command deck. Hawke watched numbly as one sped by and exploded mid-flight as two American fighters sped right through its debris.

The _Redemption_ had already lost 96 per cent of its fighter complement, as well as much of its battery capacity. Only four fighters of Knight Squadron, two from Alpha Squadron, and one from both Iris and Fire Squadrons remained. Gold and Opus Squadrons had both been completely annihilated. Out of the _Redemption_'s 200 cannons, only 15 or so were operational.

In essence, the _Redemption_ was lost.

Already, he could hear the alarms blaring as another shot impacted the hull, causing one of the turbines keeping them in the air to fail. Two more of those, and the _Redemption_ would crash into the ground over 200 meters below.

Knowing his luck, the _Redemption_'s crash site would be the detainment camp, thus doing the Death Eaters' job for them.

Gritting his teeth in fury, Hawke decided he wouldn't allow such a thing to pass. Even if the _Redemption_ fell, then he would make damn sure that it would take down a couple of enemy ships with it.

With that in mind, he punched the comm button, relaying his message to all sectors of his ship. "This is Admiral Hawke, all personnel are to abandon ship," he ordered.

The crewmen on the command deck turned to look at their Admiral with shocked looks. Hawke merely met their looks with a grim face.

"I want all of you to leave this ship," stated Hawke. "Live to fight another day."

"What about you, sir?" asked a crewman.

Hawke's jaw set. "The captain of the ship goes down with the ship."

The deeper meaning of that statement hit the crew almost unanimously. Most of the men slowly began leaving the deck under the careful watch of the Admiral, until only he was left.

Hawke turned his attention to the glass window that showed the front of the ship and sighed. So this was how it was going to end for him. On a dying ship over a thrice-be-damned piece of land, with his body never to be found.

A forgotten grave for a forgotten soldier.

Still, the thought did not dissuade him. Setting his jaw, Hawke moved towards the controls, ready to pull off his last manoeuvre as a soldier of the Empire. So consumed by the tunnel vision, he was surprised then, when someone beat him to the controls, calmly and quietly getting into the control seat and tapping the appropriate buttons.

"What the?" nearly shouted Hawke. "What are you doing here, sailor? I ordered you off this ship!"

The pilot, a lieutenant long under Hawke's command, merely turned a smirked at his superior. "With all due respect, sir, you don't know how to fly this thing. I do," remarked the pilot. "Now tell me, sir, where to?"

"We're standing by, Admiral," came another voice, and Hawke turned to see about seven more men manning the controls of the ship. They all had the same determined look he'd had minutes ago.

Not knowing what to say, Hawke merely settled for a grateful smile and a nod, which they all returned. Hawke now turned and, with a determined look, pointed at an American ship in the dead centre of the American position.

"That's our target, gentlemen!" he told the crewmen. "Redirect all weapons system power to the engines and get us as close as possible to that bastard!"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

Hawke felt the ship tremble slightly as the ship's engines suddenly received an enormous boost in power. One that it hadn't been built to endure for long. In fact, Hawke was counting on that particular defect.

"Sir, engine output is at two hundred percent!" reported a crewman.

Hawke nodded. "What about our generators?"

"Generators are giving off output at one-fifty, sir!" reported another. "Core overload will begin in two minutes if we continue at this rate."

Two minutes…good. More than enough.

"Pilot, you heard the crewman. You have two minutes to get us as close to that ship as possible."

"Aye, aye, sir!" replied the pilot with a grin as he pushed on the controls, steeping the ship into a direct course towards the central American ship.

"Sir!" called out a crewman. "His Grace is on the link, sir! He wants to speak to you!"

"Patch it through."

"_Admiral, I'd sure like to know what the hell you're doing…"_

"Your Grace," replied Hawke with a sad smile as the Duke's face came up on the holo-projector. "I'm just doing my duty, sir."

"_Hawke, you can still pull out."_

Hawke chuckled grimly as he shook his head. "No, sir, I cannot. Not in good conscience."

"_Jeremy…"_

"Sir, I will not retreat," cut off Hawke determinedly. "I'll not allow the Death Eaters to win. To take our Sovereign away. I will not give them that satisfaction."

Harry's image seemed about to protest this idea, but one look at Hawke's determined face quieted him.

"_You're a good soldier, Jeremy,"_ said Harry finally as he saluted the man. _"It's been an honour to fight alongside you."_

Hawke nodded grimly as he stiffened at attention and saluted back. Every crewman on the deck followed suit. "We are honoured to die for the Empire, Your Grace. May our sacrifice grant you victory."

The Duke seemed about to say something more before Hawke pre-emptively cut off the feed and turned towards his remaining men.

"It's been an honour, men," he told them. "May the Lord Saviour forgive us for our sins."

The crew silently nodded before returning their attention to their consoles. Hawke, too, turned his attention back to the main viewscreen. He watched as the American ship grew and grew in size. Finally, the red alarms blared as the _Redemption_'s core began to go through meltdown procedure.

Hawke watched as the Americans desperately tried to bring down the_Redemption_, with shots coursing through the entire length of the ship as chunks of the ship rained down onto the other ships and ground below. He saw the remaining personnel from the _Redemption_ flee in the escape shuttles, blasting towards the ground, where they'd be—hopefully—safe.

Silently, the Admiral opened his breast pocket and took out a picture. On it was the only memory he had of better times, when the Imperial flag still flew over London. He looked down at the piece of paper on which lay the portraits of his now-deceased wife and two children, all laughing joyfully as they waved at the camera.

Hawke was still watching the picture when the bow of the _Redemption_ rammed into the side of the American Comm Ship's hull. Explosions began to tear apart the length of the _Redemption_ as the British Assault Ship pierced its way through the Comm Ship, just as its core underwent total meltdown.

Hawke finally lifted his eyes to see the explosions come nearer to the command deck.

As the fires lit up his eyes, Hawke whispered his last words before the explosions consumed the command deck and fuelled the meltdown explosion of the ME Generators.

Empire Forever.

* * *

"Call up every ship in the _Redemption_'s sector!" shouted Harry as he paced through the room. "Tell them to get as much distance as possible between them and the _Redemption_ and to maximize shields!"

Harry stopped his pacing behind the pilot's chair, putting his right hand on the header. "Pilot, you've got less than two minute to get us as far as possible as well."

"Aye, aye, sir!" replied Hawthorne as he banked the controls as hard left as he could.

Harry felt the ship tilt slightly as the engines responded to Hawthorne's urgings and turned towards the shield technician.

"Full power to shields! Brace for impact!" he shouted.

"Sir!"

Harry turned to look at the crewman who'd called him when the_Redemption_ finally made contact with the enemy Comm Ship. Harry's eyes widened as he saw explosions run along the length of the Assault Ship.

"Hawke…" whispered Harry as he watched the last explosion tear through the command tower. He was about to say something else, however, when he noticed a bright light begin to shine from the stern of the ship. Harry's eyes bulged at the implications.

"ME meltdown!" yelled Harry. "All power to shields!"

The bright light suddenly went out, but Harry wasn't fooled. He grabbed onto the nearest thing he could hard just as a massive shockwave erupted from the _Redemption_'s stern. The shockwave blasted both fire and metal away as it tore through dozen of American ships, both large and small, and even a few British ships that couldn't escape the shockwave fast enough and suffered horrendous hull damage as a result. The only reason those didn't explode was that their shields had been maximized immediately after Harry had ordered it, but still the ships would be unsalvageable.

The _Retaliation_ shook from bow to stern as the shockwave hit its shields. Distance and power degradation, however, saved the ship's hull, though the shields failed almost immediately after. Several fires erupted throughout the ship as well, due to massive short-circuits.

While most of the crew cheered as the _Redemption_ took out a decent chunk of the Americans with it, Harry wasn't fooled. The shockwave was but the initial horror.

"Full power to the engines!" he screamed. "The show's not over yet, lads!"

Prophetically, the _Retaliation_ dashed forward just as the shockwave's epicentre suddenly exploded in a cloud of flame and smoke.

"All ships, dive!" ordered Harry, prompting Hawthorne to push down on the controls, sending the _Retaliation_ into a steep dive.

Harry watched as many an American ship that survived the shockwave was subsequently consumed by the massive explosion. Even a few British ships became caught in the fiery blast.

"Sir, we've just lost contact with most of Sector Four and Five!"

Harry barely even listened to the reply as he kept his focus on the expanding explosion to the _Retaliation_'s right.

"Increase speed!" he shouted. "Re-direct any remaining power to the starboard shields!"

Harry watched as the raging maelstrom of fire consumed everything in its path. He watched as both American and British ships suddenly vanished in huge plumes of fire as the explosion tore apart their hulls like a hot knife through butter.

Were Harry not so much in danger of losing his life, he might've thought the explosion a magnificent and beautiful show of destructive power, but the fact that thousands of British soldiers were losing their lives outdid his awe.

Harry felt sweat drip from his forehead as the blast came ever closer to his ship, devouring anything its path. Only a few more seconds and the _Retaliation_ would have dived low enough to escape the blast radius.

Only when the ship was declared clear of the blast did Harry let out a breath he didn't know he'd kept. Wiping his forehead clear of sweat with his personal kerchief, the young Duke turned towards his communications technician.

"Find out who else survived the blast," he ordered, before turning to the sensors area. "I need an update on all remaining enemy ships."

"Your Grace, the sensors detect at least four New York-Class ships in the air, accompanied by a dozen or more Jersey-Class ships. Fighter readouts indicate approximately seven squadrons in the air," reported the technician.

Harry nodded. "What about our forces?"

The comm technician frowned as he penned one last item on his notepad before looking up at Harry. "Your Grace, sound off indicates that all ships within sectors three, four, and five are gone," he dutifully reported. "We still have the _Assaye_, _Ark Royal_,_Fury_, and _Royal Hammer_ on active duty, as well as two dozen of the Order-Class Interceptor Ships. Fighter sound off indicates that we still possess approximately eleven fighter squadrons."

Harry felt himself give a feral grin at the news. With the additional loss of the American's Comm Ship, the Americans were sure to be in disarray. Shooting out his arm towards the comm technician, Harry gave the crew a triumphant look as he ordered, "Call up the fleet. All ships are to move directly against the enemy's centre!"

Amidst acknowledgements, Harry continued, "We will end this battle here! With one swift stroke!"

Seeing his men's spirit rise, after having been horribly dampened by the horrific losses the battle had bestowed upon them, Harry pushed one last time.

"This is it, lads! This is when the throne is restored, where foul deeds are paid back in kind!" he exhorted. "Remember those who have fallen in the line of duty! Remember our brothers and sisters! Remember the _Redemption_, and the brave soldiers who died upon it!"

Finally, to Harry's joy, the battered and weary crew of the_Retaliation_ cheered.

* * *

Advancing ominously and filled with a desire for revenge, the Imperial Fleet moved in on the equally battered Americans, who were still reeling from the _Redemption_'s devastating explosion.

From below, the League's Air Fleet had taken advantage of the_Redemption_'s explosive end to push back at the Americans and were now sailing upwards to engage the remaining American ships.

The American admiral, however, was no fool, unlike many of his predecessors. Watching the Imperials advance from below and in front, he had his fleet's strength gauged before making that decision he determined was wisest.

Retreat.

He knew he'd get reprimanded back at headquarters, but continuing this battle would merely destroy all that remained in the American 3rd Homeland Fleet, or 3-HF.

Of course, if he'd wanted to, he could have probably taken quite a large chunk of the enemy down with him. For, unknown to the Imperials, the Americans had brought with them a second Comm Ship, named the _Invisible Hand_, which was the _true_ coordinator for the battle, while the decimated _Jefferson_ was merely a screen.

Still, he was more concerned for the lives of his men than defending a single prison from a well-trained and vengeance-bound enemy. Therefore, he calmly and professionally ordered the fleet to retreat.

It wasn't like he much cared for his superiors' superiors. The Death Eaters, as far as the Admiral was concerned, were simply totalitarian bastards whom the US needed as an ally, lest it be consumed in the Imperials' war of revenge against the world. Still, the Admiral had given an oath to defend his country, and that was as far as he would go for the magic-wielding weirdoes.

Thus, in calm and professional formation, the American fleet disengaged as their Death Eater allies began moving forward to engage the enemy.


	10. Chapter X: Imperial Incursion

_AN: First things first: Marquis now has an assistant who will take care of uploading the finished chapters--me!_

_Also, another unnecessary review was left for Empire's Plight. Marquis replied quite colourfully, and I've taken the liberty of putting his response on his Profile page. Please note that while he has nothing against the American rebels, he is nonetheless extremely strict about interpreting history as it should be, as opposed to what you wish it to be. Whereas Mr. E Nigma had the usual tripe Marquis hears from pro-Republicans, Black has noted that he has fact._

_Also, in regards to Sulu and this Sulu-centric chapter, please bear in mind that **nearly** all of his troops are Muslims (a religion Marquis admires), as well as a mix between Blacks and Arabs. In Marquis' own words: "Whatever those bigots (white supremacists) have to say, whites would be hard pressed to find better fighters than Blacks and Arabs" _

_Also, as a point of clarification, Marquis **is** pale-skinned.  
_

* * *

General John Sulu.

The dark-skinned soldier felt himself snort in self-derision at the thought of his world-renowned title.

When the Empire had collapsed, he'd been a mere Lieutenant-Colonel, but his quick mind, and firm Imperial stance had won over the loyalty of the other Imperial troops in the African Corps. Months later, in order to compete with the other Imperial warlords, he was popularly raised to the rank of General, only ever deferring to Harry, whom he respected as both a soldier and a friend.

Nonetheless, he soon rose through the ranks of the many minor Imperial warlords to become the Fifth Lord of the Conclave. The reason for his "promotion" to Lord had been, _"…for successfully pacifying and maintaining control over Imperial lands and preserving the Imperial Way…"_

In a move that had essentially sealed Sulu and Harry's friendship, it had been Harry who had bestowed Sulu with the title of Fifth Lord.

Still, that did not mean that the two never disagreed.

For years, Sulu had vouched for a mass move against the British Isles, to reclaim the lost Imperial homeland. However, Harry had immediately shot down the idea, using the fact that the manpower needed would drain the other Imperial lands dry of any defence forces.

Of course, both men had shortly after descended into simple piracy and vied for control over foreign lands. Harry had carried on a war of revenge against the Americans and the Death Eaters, while Sulu had targeted the northern African lands, inciting the Arab Wizards to form a counter-organization called the Arab League. Not until Harry's commitment to Staples' cause did Sulu ever stop fighting the Arabs. Once Harry's course had been obvious, however, Sulu, too, had felt enormous guilt, and had immediately sought a peace treaty with the Arabs. He'd only managed to reach an accord mere days before Harry had called him up, informing him of the heir's survival.

Which was what led him to now be standing in the lead troop transport that the _Retaliation_ was sending down to free the heir. Dressed in the beige uniforms of his elite Desert Raiders, Sulu gave every one of his men a stern once-over as the transport rattled now and then from turbulence.

"Brothers," he intoned, "the heir awaits. Our mission is simple: get the Imperial Heir out, and quickly. The Imperial Heir, whom great Allah has seen fit to raise to the throne of the blessed British Empire, must not be harmed!" he exhorted. "Remember your training, brothers, and remember your oaths. Allah-hu Akbar!"

"Allah-hu Akbar!" replied the troops.

Sulu knew he did not need to provide any grand speeches, like Harry and his men usually did. Sulu's men were the best at what they did. Special-Ops, silent operations, blitz attacks, and the like were all up the African Corps' alley. That was probably why Harry had determined that Sulu and his best were to rescue the heir—a most important and glorious task, indeed.

Sulu watched calmly as the small rectangular slit on the boarding hatch showed him that they were touching ground under heavy spell-fire.

"Lock and load!" called out Sulu as he watched the ground come up rapidly. "We're going in under heavy spell-fire, men!"

"Allah-hu Akbar!" replied the troops.

Sulu stumbled a bit as the transport landed roughly, shaking the compartment. He quickly regained his balance, however, and, making sure his helmet was well-fastened, turned to his men once as the ramp went down, shouting "Wahai Mohammed!" before running down the ramp and into the awaiting fire.

Sulu brought up his rifle and let loose a couple of shots, barely noting that the man after him had fallen. The prison was Sulu's only concern, and it lay right in front of him.

The dark-skinned warrior quickly took cover behind a small concrete wall—remains, no doubt, of some house that had been levelled to build the prison. Five others from his transport joined him behind the wall as another one of them fell forward, the Reductor curse taking a lethal chunk of his head away.

Sulu grimaced at the sight, though not one of his men blanched or went green from seeing their fellow brother die this way. Settling his stomach, Sulu peeked around the corner, noting the fact that there seemed only one way into the compound, and that way was heavily guarded.

'Well,' he thought, 'back to basics, then. If you can't find a way in…'

Sulu motioned to his demolitions expert to move further down the wall, as well as two more of his heavy-weaponry experts. Sulu then turned to his remaining men and motioned for them to open fire on the gate while he went with the detached group.

Sulu paid no heed to the subsequent explosion of noise as his men obeyed orders and opened mass fire on the gate. For his part, he went down the wall, with the demolitions expert and his two heavy-weapons experts. He dispassionately watched as his two elite regiments obeyed his orders and went up against the gate. Some of the men died on their way to the cement wall, while others never even made it off the transports. Others still never even made it to ground, with Death Eater fire shooting down every other transport, immediately ending the lives of an entire squad.

Some ended up lucky and managed to survive the crash, but overall, Sulu counted about a platoon's worth of casualties as it was.

Still, he had a mission to fulfil, and he'd be damned if he'd fail where Hawke had succeeded.

Turning to his demo expert, he said, "I want you to take advantage of the others' distraction and blast a way for us into that prison."

The demolition expert, a young man from Algiers, nodded. "Understood, sir."

Sulu nodded to his two heavy weapons experts then. "You two, provide cover for the private while he gets the job done."

The men nodded silently and, with a final nod, Sulu sent them on their way while he made his way back to the two regiments, who were rapidly running out of cover, what with the Death Eaters aiming heavily-powered Reductor curses at the waist-high cement wall.

Just barely dodging a cutting curse that would have severed his head, Sulu jumped forward and hit the ground near a sergeant, who was cursing as he used the wall to stabilize his rifle as he shot.

"Sir, we need to keep moving!" shouted the sergeant. "Blasted Eaters are taking away our cover!"

Sulu nodded. "I know! Just keep up your fire until the demo crew can get us another way in!"

Understanding flooded the sergeant's face. They were merely serving as a diversion. Heartened by this, the sergeant turned to both his left and right and exhorted his men to keep up their fire.

Sulu, for his part, squatted over towards the corner where he'd first been, and peeked towards the gate, seeing a couple of his men's bodies on the floor—poor souls who'd decided to charge the gate.

Sulu quickly drew back his head as he saw a Reductor curse coming right at him. While he was able to avoid most of it, the curse managed to hit the cement wall at such an angle that shards of the cement wall slashed at his face, causing the African general to howl in pain.

"Sir! Are you alright?" asked the private next to him. Sulu wordlessly nodded, a grimace on his face as he applied pressure to his facial wound.

"Goddamned wizards!" he spat. "Blasted spells!" He blindly fired a couple of shots towards the gate in revenge.

Suddenly, however, Sulu felt the ground shake as an explosion tore open a hole in the prison's defences. Grinning, Sulu turned towards where he knew a sergeant was and called out, "All troops to the breach! Storm formation! Find the heir and get him out of there!"

Sulu gave a relieved laugh as he slumped against the wall, the wounds on his right cheek flowing liberally, despite his pressure. They'd scar, no doubt. Still, if they could pull off the rest of the mission without a hitch, it'd be worth it.

Glancing in the direction of the pillar of smoke where the breach was, Sulu couldn't help but chuckle in relief as he slouched against the cement wall. Back to the basics, indeed.

For if you couldn't find a way in…well…

Make one.


	11. Chapter XI: A Princess' Tale

_AN: Next chappie! Woo!_

_Also, Marquis tells me to tell you folks that if there was any doubt as to his reasoning behind creating the Empire, then you should read his profile. Please, however, no PM or reviews telling us how dumb you think we are for being "anachronistic" or "old-fashioned." I'll just erase them before he gets to them. That, and you just prove our point._

_Cheers,_

_The Little Duke (woo! an actual nom de plume! No more "Marquis' Assistant" for me!) _

* * *

Darkness.

All-encompassing, absolute darkness.

That was all that had ever prevailed in the girl's life. Her first memory involved the darkness of the night. Her last memory, before having been brought to this dark cell, had also involved darkness. She remembered voices pleading for unseen aggressors not to take her away, to take them instead.

At age ten, however, she couldn't truly understand why someone would want to take away what was hers. It was her turn, after all, wasn't it?

But still, the men took her from her small hut, grabbing her roughly by the arms and dragging her outside as her companions screamed for her to be brave. She couldn't understand why they looked so scared. It was just a ride, wasn't it?

But soon, after being thrown into a train compartment with other folk, who were moaning in some unseen pain, she began to understand that she wouldn't be returning again, and so she began to cry. Those with her, however, did not act like her former companions, and she was left unattended.

The girl was now sixteen. She'd spent five years in this new, dark cell. The air felt dry, and so she knew she was in the desert. She'd sought out the aid of a fellow prisoner, who'd agreed to teach her all the knowledge she was missing. She learned to do advanced math, learned Latin, Biology, Chemistry, and Physics (although only in theory, as there was no way to actually practice her knowledge). Unfortunately, by the fourth year of such lessons, the guards put a stop to them by taking away her mentor, leaving her, once again, alone in the darkness.

She'd often go to sleep crying, wondering why she was being punished this way. She'd done nothing wrong, by her reckoning. All she knew was that one day, she was taken from her home while her parents were sleeping (or so she thought. The Death Eaters had killed them in their beds). Those men had been mean, and rough, calling her names as they dragged her away from her home.

They'd also raped her, she realized years later, upon bringing her to her previous camp. They'd taken turns at deflowering her, though she hadn't had the slightest idea about what was happening to her at the time, only that it hurt and made her cry.

Even now, those guards with silver masks would occasionally enter her cell and get their jollies off her, much to her disgust. She also noticed that while the other, normal-looking guards seemed horrified by the silver masked men's actions, they didn't do anything to stop them, making her resent them as much as she did her rapists.

_BOOM_

'Speaking of which,' she thought wryly. She guessed they were drunk again, probably flinging spells around (One wasn't raped for over five years without learning a thing or two from your captors). She sighed. That meant they'd want their evening 'entertainment' later on.

Still, she wouldn't just lie down and accept her fate. She never had. Last time, about five days ago, she'd kicked her would-be rapist in the crotch, causing the man to stumble out in pain. He, of course, returned later while she was sleeping, beating her severely before eventually defiling her.

This time, she swore to at least leave one bleeding, so she hid in the corner, wielding a chunk of cement she'd managed to carve out of the wall over the year. Not for the first time, she cursed her red hair, since it would automatically give her away.

As the minutes went by and the explosions continued, however, she began worrying. What was taking them so long? Usually, they'd be lining up at her cell door by now, trying to pin her to the ground or the wall, depending on which position they preferred that day.

Her thoughts drifted back to the commotion she'd heard earlier in the day. Her very cell had shaken a few times, with dust and small chunks of cement dropping from the ceiling every time. She hadn't heard much, but the dulled sound of explosions kept taunting her ears. She'd briefly entertained the fantasy that someone had come to save her, but quickly shot that down. Why would she be special enough to be saved? And if she was, where had her saviours been for the past five years, when she needed them most?

Another explosion reached her ears, this one nearer. The girl grimaced as she began to hear voices shouting. Maybe the silver masks and the normal guards had gotten into a fight? Oh, she smiled wistfully at the idea. Maybe she'd get lucky and they'd kill each other.

Her curiosity, however, got the best of her when another explosion resonated through the dark hallway leading to her cell. She cautiously approached her cell door and peeked through the bars towards the entrance, where a single, rectangular slit provided the only light in the entire corridor. She found that if she really strained her hearing, she could actually make out some of the shouting.

"Hold them back!"

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

"Matthews! NO!"

"_Explodra!_"

"Push them back, men! Hurry!"

Soon, however, she began to hear what she thought was…

The girl blinked. It couldn't be.

Drums?

Yet, despite her incredulity, she reasoned that there were indeed some drums being beaten behind the door. Tapped to a march, she soon heard numerous new voices join the cacophony of explosions, spells, and something else.

"At'em, lads!" she heard a man call out over the noise. "Bring them down! Wahai Mohammed!"

'Muslim, then,' she gathered from that as she heard other voices repeat the Arabic sentence. Right then and there, she thanked her old mentor for his lessons.

She then began to notice something. Beyond the shouting and explosions, another sort of noise was quickly overpowering the former: gunshots.

The girl frowned. That wasn't right. Though she'd heard gunshots before, none of her current guards had any firearms. So who was…?

"Platoon, make ready!"

The girl's head snapped up at this. Army men? What the hell was going on?

"FIRE!"

The girl winced as she briefly saw the door fly off its hinges. Turning away, she heard the unfiltered screams of the dying and wounded, though she couldn't bring herself to care about her rapists' condition.

Not that she knew what the invaders would do to the prisoners here. For all she knew, they could be worse. With that in mind, the redheaded girl retreated to her corner with her jagged piece of cement, ready to strike at any who dared try to touch her. The idea that she could be shot through the bars never even struck her.

Still, she remained in her corner, defiantly glaring at the bars as she heard the tell-tale sound of boots marching down the steps that led to her corridor.

"Fan out!" she heard a powerful male voice call out. He was the leader, no doubt. "The heir must be here, somewhere! Find the heir!"

'The heir?' wondered the girl. 'Who is the heir?'

"Your Majesty!" she heard the soldiers call out as they moved down the hallway. "Your Majesty, are you in here?"

The girl sucked in her breath. She'd been sharing a prison with royalty? How come none of the other prisoners had told her?

She soon saw a dark-skinned soldier wearing a beige uniform rush by her cell, barely giving hers a glance as he saw no one in it. Desperate to get out, the girl quickly got out of her corner and went up against the bars, shouting, "Wait! Please! Don't leave me here!"

The man she'd seen rush by stopped dead in his tracks before turning and rushing back to her cell. The man looked at her through the bars with wide eyes, and she noticed he seemed to be sporting several scars on the right side of his face.

"Your Majesty, is that you?" he asked softly.

The girl looked at him hesitantly. "I…I don't know what you're talking about," she admitted. At the man's disappointed look, she quickly continued. "But please, don't leave me here! Those…m-men, they'll just keep raping me if you do!"

The man seemed about to leave when he stopped at these words. His eyes narrowed with fury at her pleading. "They raped you more than once, my child?" he asked dangerously.

The girl fearfully nodded. She was struck by how enraged the man now looked. Turning towards the other soldiers, who were milling by, the man grabbed one of them by the uniform and drew him close.

"I want every guard left alive put under arrest. NOW!" he ordered harshly. To her amazement the man didn't seem fazed by his superior's harshness, and quickly trotted off to relay the order. Meanwhile, the man turned back to her. "Don't you worry none, miss. We'll take care of those disgusting maggots."

The girl nodded nervously, but remained true to her questions. "But what about setting me free?" she asked. The man seemed reluctant to answer that.

"I…" the man started, before swallowing guiltily and dropping his head. "I'm sorry, miss…but we can't."

The girl looked outraged. "Why not? Please! Take me with you!"

The man looked crushed with guilt as he dropped his gaze further. "We came here just to get one person, miss. The transports we have don't allow us to take everyone with us."

"Please!" pleaded the girl as the man started to leave. "Please, I can't handle another five years!"

That stopped the man. Slowly turning, the soldier looked at her in shock. "Five…years?" he asked, slowly.

The girl nodded, confused.

Suddenly, the man was right against the cell bars. "What's your name?" he demanded. When she didn't answer, probably from fear of his new brash attitude, he repeated his demand, even louder.

"E-Elizabeth…Elizabeth Black," she answered fearfully.

"Who were your parents?" asked the soldier, his face becoming more and more joyful by the second.

"George Black and Christina—"

"McAllister?" finished the soldier. Elizabeth nodded with wide eyes, surprised that he knew them.

"You knew my parents?" she asked, awed. The man, however, seemed taken over by euphoria as he disbelievingly laughed, backing away several steps in the process. Several soldiers around them quickly gathered to their superior and asked him what was wrong, only to be waved away.

"I can't believe it," murmured the man, "After all these years…"

Suddenly, he seemed to snap out of it, and realized who he was talking to previously. Immediately, he went to his knees in front of Elizabeth.

"Your Majesty, forgive me, I had no idea," he apologized profusely. Looking to his stunned men, the man then barked harshly, "Well? Do you not know how to properly greet the Imperial Heir?"

Just as quickly as the enormity of the statement hit the other soldiers, they were speedy about kneeling before Elizabeth, who seemed overwhelmed and confused.

"What is going on?" she asked shrilly as she backed away from the bars. "Why are you kneeling? Who are you people?"

"Your Imperial Highness," started the man, looking up slightly, "you are the one and only heir to the Blessed Imperial Throne of the British Empire."

Elizabeth fainted.


	12. Chapter XII: To Be A Queen

When Elizabeth woke up, the first thing she noticed was the enormous amounts of light.

For someone who'd lived the better part of half a decade in darkness, such an amount of light was both welcome and unwelcome. Her eyes had never adjusted for this amount of light, and so she shut them tightly, though it comforted her to know she was no longer in her cell.

Her cell.

Elizabeth's eyes shot wide open, making her groan immediately as the overbearing light flooded her vision once more. Bringing up a dainty, milk-white hand to her head to stop the oncoming headache, she heard voices suddenly ring about her.

"The heir is awake!"

"Your Majesty! Your Majesty, are you alright?" asked a concerned, male voice. From the sound of it, he couldn't be much older than twenty-five.

"Lights…too bright," she moaned. Immediately, she heard something click several times and, upon opening her eyes, she saw that the light had been dimmed.

Looking around her, she noticed that she was lying on a red-sheeted four-poster bed with golden drapes. Looking to her right, she saw a couple of women looking down at her concernedly. She smiled wearily at them, which they returned with a curtsy. She then turned her eyes to her left, and saw the most piercing, lovely emerald-green eyes she'd ever seen.

"Your Majesty, are you alright?" repeated the green eyes. Elizabeth shook her head and, refocusing, noticed that the owner of the green eyes was a young man with untidy black hair in a blue, Field Marshall's uniform. He was sitting on a chair beside her bed and leaning forward, while two more men stood behind him, both looking just as worried.

One was the man who'd found her, and she now saw that the man's former live-skin scars had now become a dull brown colour, meaning they'd healed nicely. Instead of his beige uniform, he now wore a red, British Redcoat uniform, with the epaulettes of a general on his shoulders.

To the man's right stood the largest man Elizabeth had ever seen. Well above two meters tall, he had a full head of red hair and a full beard, which he was stroking ponderingly as he gazed down at her with intelligent, yet concerned eyes. He was wearing the sea-blue uniform of a British Navy officer, with the epaulettes of an Admiral on his shoulder. All of them seemed to be carrying their respective hats either in their arms or on their thighs (like Harry).

"Wh-Where am I?" asked Elizabeth drowsily.

"You're onboard the _HMIS Retaliation_, Your Majesty," answered the man with the green eyes. "One of your ships."

"M-My ships?"

"Aye," answered the huge redheaded man gruffly. "All we own is rightfully yours, Your Majesty."

"Why do you keep calling me that?"

The man with the green eyes seemed surprised for a moment, and turned to look at the dark-skinned man who'd broken into the prison.

"She doesn't know?" asked the man in amazement.

The dark-skinned general shook his head. "Correct, Field Marshall. I deduced her identity from her parents' names."

"Who were they?" demanded the Field Marshall.

"George Black and Christina McAllister," interrupted Elizabeth, who was getting annoyed. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Both the huge redhead and the dark-haired man gaped at her, then at the general, who nodded.

"Y-Your Majesty," gulped the green-eyed man. "George Black and Christina McAllister were the guardians of the British Crown's shadow child," he told her. "You are the daughter of His Imperial Highness, the former Prince of Wales."

For the second time, Elizabeth fainted.

Minutes later, she re-awoke to arguing. Opening her eyes slightly, she saw the women fretting around her, while the three British officers were arguing near the room's left window.

"You never said she was the shadow child!" she heard the Field Marshall hiss.

"Does it matter?" asked the redheaded man gruffly. "She's a legitimate candidate for the throne."

"Staples, a shadow child is the most dubious, if legal, successor to the throne," explained the dark-skinned general as he rubbed his forehead. "Her very succession will cause an uproar in the Covenant. McDonald and O'Connor will never accept her."

She briefly heard the Field Marshall groan. "I forgot about those two."

"So what happens now, then?" asked the admiral.

"We need to convince O'Connor of Her Majesty's claim. He's the only one McDonald will listen to," stated the general.

The Field Marshall nodded silently, but was still rubbing his temples. This issue was bringing on one massive headache.

"O'Connor's not about to submit to anyone," noted the man called Staples. "Wimp he may be, but he loves his freedom too much. Him an' his men."

"Which means, no McDonald," summed up the Field Marshall. "Which means civil war."

"Surely it won't come to that," protested the general. "Right?"

Both the admiral and the Field Marshall stayed silent.

"Sulu, we can't allow O'Connor and McDonald to stay outside Imperial authority," stated the Field Marshall slowly. "As it stands, they're nothing more than pirates, and their continued existence would mean our automatic sanction of their actions."

"Potter's right," admitted the admiral, though it sounded to Elizabeth that he was having a hard time coming to terms with that action. "If O'Connor and McDonald don't submit, it'll be war."

"Why?"

All three men turned sharply to look at Elizabeth with wide eyes, while the women started shooting questions at her about her health. Elizabeth impatiently waved the questions away and repeated her query. "Why must there be war?"

"Your Majesty," started the man called Potter. "O'Connor and McDonald are two of your former officers. They command substantial legions of men and weaponry. To have them roam the globe free of any authority is to invite chaos."

"I agree with the Field Marshall's assessment," agreed her rescuer, the man called Sulu. "O'Connor and McDonald are a threat to Your Majesty's well-being in their present position."

Staples, for his part, grunted in agreement. Elizabeth briefly wondered how such an uncouth man had ever risen in British society.

"Can you not negotiate with them?" asked Elizabeth, waving away a bowl of soup that her attendants were imploring her to eat.

Potter shook his head. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty, but neither will even entertain the idea of a shadow child sitting on the throne of the Empire."

"Why not?"

"Shadow children are supposedly a myth, Your Majesty," explained Staples. "Until Sulu rescued you, I thought them to be a myth, too."

"You see, during the English Civil War, Charles I implemented the shadow child tactic to preserve the throne, in the event that both he and his son, Charles II were to die," explained Sulu. "Ever since then, the practice stuck. As the heir to the throne, your father, the Prince of Wales, had you raised in hiding by two of our Armed Forces' most experienced Special-Ops agents, George Black and Christina McAllister."

"Then how did they get me?" demanded Elizabeth. "Why were those bastards able to kidnap me? To take me away to that dreadful camp where they…where they…" she broke into tears as she remembered the horrible experience of being raped for the first time.

All three men seemed enraged at the idea of the heir being thus violated. Still, revenge would be theirs, as the prison guards had all been brought onboard the _Retaliation_ for summary judgement by the heir.

Nonetheless, they had a question to answer, and Potter took it upon himself to answer it.

"Habit, I imagine, Your Majesty," answered the Field Marshall. When Elizabeth raised her eyes to meet his, he ploughed on. "They were so used to the veil of secrecy, and were so self-assured as to the integrity of their cover, that they never saw the Death Eaters coming."

"Hubris," summed up Staples. "A common flaw."

Sulu nodded wisely.

Elizabeth nodded slowly at this answer. She supposed it made sense. "What's to happen to me now?" she asked in a small voice. "I don't know anything about ruling…or anything!"

Harry looked at his new Queen with pity. He truly sympathized with her, and he could feel that both Sulu and Staples felt the same way, despite the gruff exterior the Irishman displayed.

"Your Majesty, we'll be setting in Harrisburg soon," Harry informed her. "You'll be announced to the crowd after you've had a chance to settle in the palace."

"Harrisburg?"

Harry cleared his throat while both Staples and Sulu chuckled. "Yes, Harrisburg. It's the capital of my faction's lands."

"Oh, okay…what other factions are there?"

Sulu stepped forward at that and bowed low to Elizabeth. "I am General John Sulu, Your Majesty. My faction is the African Imperial League," he told her. "We joined forces with the Field Marshall some time ago, when we learned of your survival."

"Name's Tybalt Staples, Your Majesty," Staples introduced himself by thumping on his chest. "Admiral of the Imperial Navy and leader of the Asian Loyalist League."

Elizabeth nodded to both men before turning towards Harry. "And you, Field Marshall?"

Harry bowed. "I am Harry James Potter, Your Majesty; Field Marshall of the Imperial Armed Forces after the demise of Lord Irons, and leader of the Northern Britannic Loyalist Forces."

"They…all sound so…extravagant," noted Elizabeth slowly, causing all three officers to goggle at her, while her attendants laughed.

"Yes, well…" sputtered Harry. "We'll just be leaving then, Your Majesty, if that's alright with you?" Elizabeth nodded. "We need to coordinate the fleet."

"Fleet?"

Harry grinned at her as he put on his bicorn, along with Sulu and Staples, who were already opening the door. "Have a look, Your Majesty" he prompted her, motioning to the windows with his gloved hand.

Once Harry had left, the girl-Queen-to-be pushed off her blankets and, admiring her nightdress for a second, got out of bed, despite her attendants' protests, some of whom were glaring at the place where Harry had been before leaving.

Taking slow, tentative steps, Elizabeth made her way to the window on the left side, which were covered by red drapes with golden lacing. Opening them, she briefly wondered what the Field Marshall had meant when she finally noticed what she was looking at.

The sky.

The sky, with numerous, huge ships flying to the side of the one she was in!

They were bloody flying!

Elizabeth fainted for the third time.

* * *

Hours later, Elizabeth woke up to see she was still in the red-and-gold bedroom. She scrunched up her nose slightly at the sight. She had more of a taste for silver and green than red and gold, although she did admit that the British Redcoat uniform was quite dashing. Looking around, she noticed that only one attendant was in the room, and she'd fallen asleep.

Feeling mischievous and curious, Elizabeth slowly slid herself out of the covers and quietly made her way to the door. Giving her attendant one last look, the young heir quickly made up her mind and snuck out of the room, only to find herself in a luxurious corridor. To each side, she saw a guard dressed in a red coat, wielding a pike, and each sporting a rather ridiculous black hat of sorts. All of them had their eyes on the young heir, who smiled nervously at them.

"Um…hi?" she tried.

The guards stayed silent.

"I'm…um…just going for a walk, alright?"

Silently, the guard nearest to the door opened it for the heir, who looked at the young man gratefully.

"Thank you," she said earnestly. She was mildly disappointed to get no reaction from the guard, who simply stared straight at the wall before him.

As she walked down the hall, she found herself somewhat disappointed at the life of a Royal. She'd thought it'd be glamorous and fun, but if the guards had been any indication, then her days were doomed to solitude, deference, and silence.

The young heiress walked through the empty, metallic halls, wondering why there wasn't anyone around. She'd come up to several guards on her travels, but all of them seemed bound to silence, and beyond the first guard, none of them granted her entry into the rooms they protected.

Finally, after being rebuffed for the seventh time, Elizabeth felt her patience snap as she tried to enter a room from whence she could hear several odd sounds.

"What is the matter with you people?" she screamed finally. "You tell me I'm to be your thrice-be-damned Queen, and yet you act like I'm a horrible nuisance!"

She pointed her finger at the door, glaring at the guards. "In the name of the British Throne, I _order_ you to open this door!"

That did it.

Faster than she could realize, the guards had stiffened, saluted, and opened the door for her. Blinking wildly, she stood immobile as the doors slid open, revealing a training room. Inside, she saw her three officers giving her approving looks.

"Well done, Your Majesty," praised the Field Marshall. "Very well done."

The huge man she knew as Staples nodded. "Ye've got spirit, Your Majesty," he told her, before grunting in the Field Marshall's direction. "I say she passes."

The dark-skinned general nodded. "I agree with the Admiral."

"What?"

Harry bowed low to Elizabeth. "Apologies, Your Majesty, but we needed to be sure you would be well-suited for the throne."

Elizabeth looked scandalised. "You were testing me?" she screeched. "How dare you!"

Harry looked entirely unapologetic. "Your Majesty, do you know how long I've gone without hope?" She shook her head. "Five years. Five years, during which I butchered, killed, tortured, and maimed in the name of a throne that sat empty on an island none of us here have set foot on since its fall."

Harry quickly closed his distance to Elizabeth and cornered her with an arm slamming into the wall behind her. "I've had enough of the nightmares. I'm done with fighting for a cause that doesn't exist. If we were to give you our lives, our commitment, and our men, you had to prove yourself worthy of sitting on that illustrious throne," he hissed.

At Harry's words, Staples nodded grimly, while Sulu merely reached up to touch his facial scars.

"Do you know how many died to rescue you?" continued Harry, now definitely intimidating her. "How many lives were lost in that aerial battle you probably thought nothing of?"

Elizabeth shakily shook her head.

"Thousands, Your Majesty," Harry stated bluntly. "I lost a friend there. He refused to retreat and leave you at the Death Eaters' mercy. So he rammed his ship into the American command ship and blew himself up."

Elizabeth's eyes widened at that, and her mouth fell open in shock. Sinking to her knees, Elizabeth felt tears slowly accumulate in her eyes.

"Why?" she asked, heartbroken. "Why did they die? Why for me?"

Harry stepped back and gave her an unforgiving look. "You are the symbol of peace, power, and justice for the Empire, Your Majesty. Your very existence managed to rally more men than any one of our recruiting speeches. The moment it was heard you were alive, men and women flocked to our recruiting offices."

"Ye are the Empire, Your Majesty," repeated Staples. "In flesh and bone, ye are the Empire. Your beauty reflects its beauty. Your courage, its courage. Your strength is the Empire's strength," he stated, advancing a few steps. "Admiral Hawke knew that when 'e blew up the _Redemption_," he added for Harry's benefit. Harry merely looked away, crossing his arms.

"We're all ready to lay down our lives in your name, Your Majesty," Sulu added softly. "But only if you're willing enough to handle the burden of fulfilling the dearest wishes of those who've already died in the name of Crown and Empire."

Elizabeth merely gaped at the three, and so they remained, until finally, Harry gave a sigh of frustration and stormed out of the room.

Both Staples and Sulu watched their comrade leave angrily, but said nothing. Only a single look at each other told them that they both would leave him alone for a while. He hadn't had the time to grieve, after all.

"Why is he so mad?"

Both Staples and Sulu turned to look at Elizabeth, who was still sitting on the ground, back to the wall. "Did I make him mad?"

Both officers stayed quiet for a moment, exchanging knowing glances. Staples seemed to be nudging his eyes towards Elizabeth, while Sulu was doing the same thing to him. Eventually, Staples sighed.

"Fine," he grunted. Sulu merely gave him a triumphant look.

The huge Irishman turned slightly towards Elizabeth, though his eyes remained fixed on the window in front of him. Through it, he could see Harry's 96th Rifle Regiment training in hand-to-hand combat.

"Jeremy Hawke was Potter's friend," Staples explained softly—so softly that Sulu looked at the huge Irishman in wonder. It had never occurred to him that Staples could be so gentle. "He's the Admiral that blew up the _Redemption_ so we could win."

Elizabeth looked horrified at that.

"Potter asked Hawke to retreat, but the man refused point blank. The way I heard it, he said he refused to return to a life of what he considered to be piracy, and that if the price to free you was his life, then so be it."

Silence ensued after that comment.

"How did they meet?" asked Elizabeth.

Sulu took over now. "The Field Marshall saved Hawke's life in Canada, back when the Empire had just fallen," explained the general. "Hawke had been abandoned by the regional fleet with about two thousand sailors and soldiers in one of the many bases we had under siege. Hawke was, since then, one of Harry's most fanatical supporters."

Staples grunted in agreement. "Fanatical is an understatement."

Sulu nodded, smiling nostalgically. "Aye. Hawke was downright devoted. He never questioned orders, and he always found a way to make a loss into a victory. A clever tactician, and a gentleman," said Sulu. "That is, if said lady was a supporter of Field Marshall Potter. Otherwise, he was downright vicious."

Elizabeth couldn't help herself. She giggled. She immediately slapped her two hands to her mouth, however, as her eyes grew wide in horror at what she'd done.

Staples and Sulu, however, seemed amused.

"There's nothing to look so horrified at, Your Majesty," reassured Sulu. "We still find it amusing ourselves. Still, it was nonetheless true. Hawke was a follower of Field Marshall Potter through and through."

"Hmm…" Elizabeth said musingly. "Wait, you said Hawke was rescued by the Field Marshall when the Empire fell, right?" Nods. "How old _is_ the Field Marshall? He can't be a day over twenty-three! How in the world did he reach so high a rank?"

Now the two officers seemed sheepish, much to her amusement.

"Well…Your Majesty…" Sulu stumbled over the words.

"Truth is, the ranks are popularly appointed," confessed Staples. "When the Empire fell, I was just a captain—my ship being the_Locker_."

"I was a Lieutenant-Colonel when the news arrived in Africa," admitted Sulu.

"What about the Field Marshall?" asked Elizabeth curiously.

Sulu and Staples exchanged glances. "He was a Major General," answered Sulu at length. "He only reported to Lord Irons, the then-alive Field Marshall and Head of the Armed Forces. When the Empire fell, he was the highest ranking officer in the field that had survived the coup."

Elizabeth was shocked. "What happened to all the other generals?"

Sulu shrugged. "Most of the generals were armchair generals. They were in London, or the other colonial capitals, when the coup went down."

"I…see…" Elizabeth said slowly. "So why give yourselves such high ranks? Isn't that for your superiors to decide?"

Both officer shifted uncomfortably.

"Until you were rescued, Your Majesty," admitted Sulu, "We _had_ no superiors. When the Covenant of the Five Lords was created—"

"The what?"

"The Covenant of the Five Lords," repeated Staples. "The five most powerful Imperial warlords that predominated over an area of former Imperial control. I am the Lord of Asia, while Sulu here is the Lord of Africa."

"The Field Marshall is Lord of North America," continued Sulu. "While the two others, O'Connor and McDonald, are Lords of the Caribbean and the British Isles, respectively."

"So McDonald is your leader?"

Both men adopted disgusted faces. "Gods below, no!" spat Staples. "There's no way I'd ever call McDonald my boss."

"McDonald may have the British Isles as his territory, Your Majesty," Sulu clarified, "but he's not a very popular warlord, nor does he have very sizeable forces. He only has the British Isles by virtue of his base being closer, while the Field Marshall's is closer to Canada."

Elizabeth nodded in understanding. "Still, you haven't answered my first question," she reminded them.

"Oh?"

Elizabeth nodded. "Why is the Field Marshall so hard on me?"

Staples and Sulu shifted uneasily. "Your Majesty, the Field Marshall isn't very convinced with your ability. He feels that, by acting like a victim, you're dishonouring the memory of his fallen friend."

"Truth is," admitted Staples, "Potter's the one who lost the most in that battle. About five thousand soldiers, right?"

Sulu shook his head. "Seven thousand, three hundred, and seventy nine. Plus six ships," he added quickly.

Elizabeth's head had drooped by now. So many people killed…all to save her. She now felt disgusted with herself for ever having entertained evil thoughts towards her rescuers for not having shown up earlier.

"Your Majesty, if I may?" asked Sulu. Elizabeth looked up weakly and nodded. "In my opinion, Your Majesty, perhaps the best thing you can do to ease the Field Marshall's dislike and honour those men and women who died in your name is to start acting like the sovereign you're going to become," suggested Sulu. "You will be our Queen, Your Majesty, and we will be answering to you, and only you. You must be our guiding hand and our leash. The Field Marshall would have never walked out on the former Queen, nor acted as aggressively, but your lack of reaction confirmed, in the Marshall's opinion, your lack of ability."

"But what can I possibly _do_?" asked Elizabeth, a tinge of whining in her voice.

Staples frowned momentarily before crossing his huge arms across his wide chest.

"The first Elizabeth began the Empire," he told her. "The second, preserved it with the Muggle Commonwealth. The question now is: can you, the third, rebuild it?"

Both officers looked down at the redheaded teen, who seemed to be mulling it over from her seat on the ground. Finally, when both men seemed about to give up and take Harry's example, Elizabeth silently stood up and, tossing her red hair back, glared at the two officers defiantly.

"Yes," she affirmed. "I can."

Sulu and Staples merely grinned.


	13. Chapter XIII: To Create a Ruler

When Sulu found Harry hours later, the youngest Field Marshall in known history was lying on his bed, head propped up by pillows, and looking at a photograph he was holding in his hands.

"Did it work?" asked Harry before Sulu could say anything.

Wordlessly, Sulu nodded. "She seems determined enough," he added at length.

Harry nodded and resumed looking at the picture.

Sulu looked at his friend concernedly for a few minutes before turning and getting ready to leave.

"It was taken during the official christening of the _Redemption_," Harry's voice stopped him. Sulu turned to find him still looking at the picture. "Hawke was still recovering from his wounds from his rescue," he explained. "Still, the stubborn mule wanted to be there, and so he stood by me the whole time—in pain, no doubt—and even shook my hand."

"He died a good death," Sulu said softly.

Harry chuckled melancholically. "Why is it we humans try to justify death? Is it arrogance?"

"It's need," cut in Sulu. "We need to believe it means something, else we'll go crazy from the guilt—deluded or real."

Harry paused. "Perhaps," he granted eventually. He then shook his head and put the photo down on his nightstand. Sulu could barely make out the image of Harry and Hawke shaking hands in front of a huge, metallic background. Standing up, Harry straightened his uniform. "I suppose Her Majesty is coming?"

Sulu smirked. "Of course. After that dressing down you gave her, and a few words from Staples and myself, she's determined now to prove who's boss."

Harry chuckled. "Good. Maybe she'll make a good Queen after all."

Sulu nodded silently. "Well, I best be off, then," he said. "Her Majesty is bound to show up any minute, and I'm sure you both want this as private as possible."

Harry chuckled before turning and, facing the mirror, tried to put on a convincing display of tolerant disdain. Meanwhile, Sulu had snuck out, not wanting to be there when the heir arrived and beat up the Field Marshall.

True to prediction, Elizabeth walked into the Field Marshall's room minutes later, her escort with her. By now, she'd gotten out of her nightclothes and into a more casual two-piece outfit. She'd put on a beige-coloured Oxford shirt and a midnight blue, ankle-length skirt, under which Harry could see two black shoes peeking out.

Harry gave her a once-over before looking to the guards and nodding. The men, however, stayed where they were. As Harry raised a challenging eyebrow, Elizabeth began to smile evilly.

"Find them unresponsive, Your Grace?" she asked sweetly. Harry grimaced at the title, making her smile grow. "Ah, yes, I heard about that from the guards."

Harry desperately fought the urge to grin at how mean the future Queen was being. Nonetheless, he knew he had a job to do to toughen up the future heiress.

"It was appointed by the people," Harry said indifferently. "The people I've been protecting for five years."

"Hmm…" mused Elizabeth. "Convenient, though, isn't it? The Empire's loss seems to have gained you everything."

"Unless I'm much mistaken, Your Majesty," Harry answered curtly, "I seem to remember being a widower, and an orphan."

Harry nearly smirked as he watched Elizabeth wince slightly at the pointed jab. This was good, though. This way, she'd think out things a bit more clearly in the future.

Elizabeth glared at the older man. "Perhaps," she ceded. "However, that does not excuse you for the treatment you inflicted on our person."

'Third person, now? She's learning,' thought Harry as he put on a cool face. "Your childishness warranted it, Your Majesty. And I see no improvement."

_Slap_

Harry's head barely moved as Elizabeth's hand left an angry red imprint on his cheek. Harry had been expecting, of course, but for the purpose of playing his part, widened his eyes in supposed shock.

"You will respect us," Elizabeth growled, her hand still in the air after having slapped him. "In a few weeks time, we will be Queen, and we will not have insubordinate generals in our army."

Harry stayed silent, though now he allowed himself to show some respect in his eyes. "As you wish, Your Majesty," he said deferentially, bowing slightly as he did.

Elizabeth seemed satisfied by Harry's apparent submission and ploughed on. "Now, we are willing to forget your rudeness if you will submit to us," she said with a small amount of contempt. "The Empire needs you, Field Marshall. I have spoken with General Sulu and Admiral Staples, and both are in agreement on this. You are the best soldier we have."

Harry made a noncommittal sound, but seemed to be considering it, although he had mentally already agreed. "I am but one man, Your Majesty. I am tired of fighting," he told her. "I would love nothing more than to retire and find my loved ones' graves to pay my respects."

Elizabeth allowed a compassionate look to leak through her stone façade before quickly bringing it back up again. "From what we're told, Your Grace, the Potters were among the most loyal of our aristocracy. Would it not follow, then, that the greatest honour you could do to their memory is to bring back the Empire they died for?"

Harry put on a decent show of struggling with his emotions and looking distressed. Eventually, however, he decided to end the show and hung his head. "You're right, Your Majesty," he ceded, before taking a knee before her. "I apologize for my earlier faults, Your Majesty. Do with me as you will; I will serve."

Elizabeth seemed exhilarated at her perceived victory, which made Harry smile mentally. Perhaps this would serve to boost her confidence.

"Please, Field Marshall, rise," she ordered. Harry rose slowly to his feet, standing at attention. Elizabeth giggled a bit. "We accept your apology, Field Marshall," she told him. "Furthermore, we will confirm your Dukedom. However, if you wish to change it to another city…"

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Harry said, "but Halifax is fine. I shall respect the will of the Crown to confirm me, but the people were the ones who named me, and so I will keep the title as is."

Elizabeth nodded, pleased. "Very well, then, Halifax. We shall expect you to resume your duties forthwith. We're sure Admiral Wolf must be panicking on the bridge by now."

Harry allowed a chuckle to escape his lips, finding genuine humour in the statement. Despite Wolf's ability, he nonetheless needed a higher power to report to and take orders from in order to satisfy his need for order.

Elizabeth looked pleased at having made Harry laugh and nodded her head in farewell. Just as she was about to turn, however, Harry stopped her with, "Your Majesty, a moment, please."

"Yes, Halifax?" she asked curiously.

"What of Parliament, Your Majesty?" asked Harry, genuinely concerned on the issue. Loyalist he might be, but he was also a staunch believer in democratic representation. At her confused look, Harry explained, "Up until now, my queen, the warlords have ruled as _de facto_ leaders, not due to any Parliament. Now that we've found you, my queen, there's bound to be clamour for a new Parliament to be created."

Elizabeth nodded pensively. "We shall think on it. You are right, however, Halifax. The Empire needs its representation before our person. Worry not, Parliament will return as well."

Harry sighed in relief and bowed. "I trust in the wisdom of Your Majesty," he said deferentially.

Elizabeth blushed at the compliment and nodded once more in farewell before she glanced at her guards and left the room. The guards only stayed behind for a single second more, giving Harry admiring glances (they'd been handpicked by him for this very occasion) and then leaving.

Harry smiled as the door closed and turned towards the mirror with a victorious grin. He'd told Staples and Sulu this would work.

* * *

_AN: Sorry for the delay, folks. Marquis' been busy with midterms, as have I. Also, a fair warning: the posting of this story, having gone quicker than scheduled, will be succeeded by a short time (1-1.5 weeks) of no posting, as Marquis hadn't finished fine tuning the sequel. Once he has, it'll be up in no time._


	14. Chapter XIV: To Crown the Future

_AN: This is, by far, Marquis and I's favourite chapter. By the end of it, you'll be able to see why._

_Also, apologies for the delay, but it's reading week for the both of us, and we've been kind of busy all week. Marquis still has to research on British Egyptian colonization, come to think of it. I'll remind him in the morning._

_Cheers! _

* * *

_Harrisburg, Nova Britannia_

The streets were bustling on that fateful day.

Men, women, and children lined up on either side of the cobbled street as drum beating soldiers marked the tempo for their comrades' march. Slowly, the procession of several thousand red-coated soldiers made its way towards a building near the artificial hill upon which was perched the most magnificent building on the artificially-built island archipelago.

The Cathedral of St. Albans, named after its destroyed namesake, though built more in the style of Westminster Abbey. Its towering, glistening marble spires were visible throughout the Imperial Capital; its bells sang throughout the city in jubilation at the event that was about to begin.

Beating a solemn march, the redcoats took step after step in tandem, faces neutral, though the air was charged with the excitement everyone was feeling.

Not a single uniform was unwashed, either. In proud, shiny red uniforms, with their belts polished, their trousers pressed, their boots shined, and their weapons cleaned, the British soldiers marched towards the hill.

Beyond the loud drumming, not much sound was heard. The cheering, the populace seemed to unknowingly consent unanimously, would be reserved for the moment when their new Sovereign would be confirmed as Queen. Too long had they gone without hope of the return of their beloved monarchy. Far too long so that they could simply have their hopes dashed.

And so it was a silent procession that made its way towards the magnificent, gothic cathedral. First came the soldiers, marching in goosestep, with line after line of drummers beating a solemn march while the cathedral's five bells rang loud in the day sky. At the front of every regiment, two head drummers and two Colour Guards led the march, the British Union Jack and their regimental Colours hanging limply down.

First came Harry's men, as the hosts of the event. At the head of the procession were Harry's personal guards, the 1st Airborne Legion, known popularly as the Snake Eaters, since most of them were veterans of every single campaign Harry had ever fought in, including India. They were distinguishable by the gold badge on their left sleeve that said "1st", with the S replaced by a menacing snake. The Legion was comprised primarily of the 79th and 96th Regiments.

Then came the 2nd Airborne Legion, primarily made up of the post-coup volunteers. Made up from fragments of different, former regiments, they were the first, true post-fall battle group in Harry's army. Theirs was also a more sunny disposition, as opposed to the grim-faced veteran in the 1st Legion. One could almost see a spring in their steps, whereas the 1st marched far more professionally.

After the 2nd came the 3rd Airborne Legion, often called the Winter Boys, or Wints, due to their often deployment to the icy wastelands in Northern Canada. Their uniforms set them apart, as they forewent the typical redcoat and dressed all in snow camouflage, even replacing the usual shako with white berets. While most had the misconception that the 3rd was a dead-end placement, the reality was that only the best ever got into that Legion. In fact, Harry had assigned Neville and Susan to lead it, and they, in turn, took Harry's two best artillery officers with them.

'Speaking of which,' Harry thought as he watched from the steps of the Cathedrals, dressed in his freshly washed and pressed uniform with every decoration he'd ever had adorning his red-variant Marshall's coat.

The artillery had gotten the honour of being fourth in line. At their head, with the Colours and Head Drummers, marched Harry's two best artillery officers: one Henry Ames and Ernie Macmillan. Both men were grinning wide as they led the procession of artillery officers, with their cannons being towed behind. It was somewhat like watching one of those May Day Parades the Russians used to have during the Soviet Era, Harry mused. Cannons of every type, from Snakebite-Class to Leviathan-Class, were towed through the streets, to the admiring looks of the populace.

And so the parade went on, with each Legion marching towards Coronation Hill before making sharp turns to either the left or right as they reached the crossroads at the hill's base. Only one procession would come up the hill, and that was the future Queen's. By decree, Coronation Hill could not be tread upon by armed people.

Harry watched as Legion after Legion in his army paraded down Elizabeth Street, until finally, the last Legion in his army (the 51st Airborne Legion, "The Doughboys") turned to the right at the crossroads.

Horns blared then, and Harry became excited as the main event was about to begin.

Playing a martial, military song, the horns heralded the march of the newly formed Crown Guards, the new personal guard to the Monarch. Handpicked from every regiment in the ALL, AIM, and NLBF, the new Guards marched proudly in their blood-red uniforms down the street, horns and drums blaring as they marched in unison down the streets, rifles resting against their shoulders and bayonets glinting in the sun from being recently polished. The Guards had also forgone the shakos, and had instead replaced them with the fur hats of the Grenadiers, with one glaring difference.

A golden plate adorned the centre of their helmets, bearing the new Imperial shield--a lion and unicorn rampant flanking a golden crowned shield, which was quartered, much in the style of the former Royal Coat of Arms. The only difference, however, was that rather than have the lions and harps that represented England, Scotland, and Ireland, there were now different symbols. In the first quarter was a red lion rampant holding a fife, symbolizing Britain's readiness for war. In the second was a golden gryffin rampant, holding up a cross crosslet flitchee, symbolizing the death defying bravery of the British populace and their unshakable faith. Then, in the third, were a dagger and a lightning bolt crossing each other, in representation of the British desire for swift justice. Finally, in the fourth quarter, was a golden, erminois phoenix holding, in one talon, a cross ragouly, and in the other, flowers, in symbolism of the revived Empire, which was brought about despite past tribulations, and held hope for a better future.

In the midst of the Crown Guards, however, was the object that most excited Harry. The Imperial Heiress' jet-black, horse-drawn carriage.

It stood out ominously among the blood-red troops that surrounded it. The very horses that drew it were black as well, and the slow, marching procession made it look more like an omen of doom to come than a Royal carriage. Of course, Harry knew very well that the reason for choosing that colour for the carriage and horses was exactly that.

The Empire would return, and its vengeance, honed by years of warfare and powerless fury, would be swift and brutal.

Beyond the horns, drums, the sound of boots against stone, and church bells, however, not a single further sound was made. Everyone seemed entranced by the ominous aspect of the carriage.

Eventually, the Guards reached the base of the hill, where they, rather than turn right or left, did both and split evenly both ways, with one side being led by the Colour Guard holding up the Regimental Colours, and the other half being led by the one holding up the Union Jack.

Down the middle, however, the carriage continued up the hill, until it reached the entrance and parked horizontally to it.

Unseen to the populace, the Queen's carriage was opened by an awaiting clerk, while the Nova Britannia executive (comprised of Harry's appointed Secretaries) stood waiting, alongside the chief Judicial Officer (The Right Honourable Supreme Judge John Beckett) and the chief Legislative Officer (The Right Honourable Allen E. Lee). On the other side of the red carpet stood Harry, his ranking military officers, and Staples and Sulu (along with their own ranking officers).

It had been decided to use this arrangement as a symbol of the civilian and military institutions being two halves of a whole, with the Queen being the uniting factor.

As one, the waiting guests bowed as Elizabeth, dressed in the ceremonial crimson surcoat and the Robe of State of crimson velvet, was helped down the chariot by the black-dressed clerk. Paying little heed to them, Elizabeth gave them a short dip of the head, which they took as their cue to straighten up again.

The guests waited until Elizabeth walked into the Cathedral before entering themselves, quickly using the side aisles of the interior of the Cathedral to find their places for the rest of the ceremony.

Lining up the wooden, exquisitely-crafted benches were the numerous guests and officials that had been invited by Harry's administration for the coronation, with the additional approval of Staples and Sulu. Unsurprisingly enough, neither O'Connor nor McDonald decided to attend, refusing to accept the succession.

Of course, due to this, Staples and Sulu had massed their available military outside Nova Britannia in a tight security cordon made up of all of their available ships. In addition, Harry had several off-duty Artillery units be reactivated and man the massive Coastal/Anti-Air MEG-Propelled Cannons that surrounded the small island nation on their own small, artificial islands.

The guests watched as Elizabeth slowly, but gracefully made her way towards the altar at the end of the aisle. In front of it stood the Archbishop, as well as Harry, Judge Beckett, Allen Lee, and the Archbishop of Halifax. Unfortunately, since there had been no monarch during the past five years, there was no Lord Great Chamberlain, Earl Marshal, High Constable, or Chancellor, which was why the aforementioned four were standing by.

Slowly, the orchestra to the side of the altar began playing a solemn piece of music, synchronising their pace with that of the future Queen. Silence overtook the murmurs that had previously plagued the holy building as everyone was enchanted by the graceful, Imperial presence that the future Queen emanated. Upon seeing her walk down the aisle so imperiously, Harry knew then and there that he'd been right about her. She would make a great Queen.

Finally, Elizabeth reached the altar and was directed to the right, where stood the Chair of Estate. Slowly, Elizabeth walked over to the Chair and sat on it, prompting the next portion of the ceremony.

Moving efficiently and with all the grace that the ceremony required, Harry, Judge Beckett, Allen Lee, and the Archbishop of Halifax made their way to the north, east, south, and west respectively. The Archbishop of Harrisburg, thus seeing them in position, began the solemn ceremony as the music wound down.

The Archbishop walked first to the east, where Judge Beckett stood, facing the annex filled with representatives from all submitting Imperial judicial systems, and raised his hands, proclaiming, "To the East! I present unto you Elizabeth! Your undoubted Queen! Wherefore all you who are come this day to do your homage and service, are you willing to do the same?"

Shouts of, "Yes! Yes! Yes!" erupted in the eastern wing of the Cathedral.

Satisfied, the Archbishop moved on to the south, where the representatives from all of the submitting forces' legislative bodies sat, where he repeated. "To the South! I present unto you Elizabeth! Your undoubted Queen! Wherefore all you who are come this day to do your homage and service, are you willing to do the same?"

Like the eastern wing, the southern annex exploded in eager and proud shouts of "Yes! Yes! Yes!"

The Archbishop moved on to the west, where the clergy sat, where he once again repeated his query. "To the West! I present unto you Elizabeth! Your undoubted Queen! Wherefore all you who are come this day to do your homage and service, are you willing to do the same?"

Once again, the excited shouts of "Yes! Yes! Yes!" replied.

Finally, the Archbishop moved to the North, where Harry stood facing the annex where the military guests sat. Raising his arms, the Archbishop finished the recognition by asking, "To the North! I present unto you Elizabeth! Your undoubted Queen! Wherefore all you who are come this day to do your homage and service, are you willing to do the same?"

Unlike the other annexes, the Northern annex's shouts of approval nearly deafened everyone present, as the battle-weary and scarred soldiers poured their very souls into their approval. Out of everyone present, they were the ones most euphoric over having a Queen once again.

Somewhat dizzy from the euphoric response from the military (he swore he saw some of them even burst into tears of joy), the Archbishop moved back to the centre of the coronation area while the others retook their seats, from whence he proceeded directly towards Elizabeth, standing before her.

Elizabeth, for her part, kneeled onto the provided cushion as the Archbishop looked down at her and proceeded to administer her oath.

"Will you solemnly promise and swear to govern the Peoples of the British Empire, both Gifted and Not, with all Possessions and Territories being those before the Fall, and all other Territories to any of them belonging or pertaining, according to their respective laws and customs?" asked the Archbishop solemnly, holding a hand to Elizabeth's head.

Elizabeth forced herself not to nod and instead spoke out clearly and eloquently enough that even those at the back heard her. "I solemnly promise so to do."

"Will you to your power cause Law and Justice, in Mercy, to be executed in all your judgments?"

"I will."

"Do you swear to protect and revenge the Peoples of the Empire, both Gifted and Not, who were taken from this world by those calling themselves the Death Eaters? Will you retake our Homelands and administer the rule of Law and Order, so that such tragedy may ne'er occur again?"

"All this, I swear," replied Elizabeth fervently, and none who heard her doubted the veracity of her feelings on the issue.

"Will you to the utmost of your power maintain the Laws of God and the true profession of the Gospel? Will you to the utmost of your power maintain in the British Empire the Protestant Reformed Religion established by Law? Will you maintain and preserve inviolable the settlement of the Church of England, and the doctrine, worship, discipline, and government thereof, as by Law established in England? And will you preserve unto the Bishops and Clergy of England, and to the Churches there committed to their charge, all such rights and privileges, as by Law do or shall appertain to them or any of them?"

Firmly, Elizabeth replied, "All this I promise to do. The things which I have here before promised, I will perform, and keep. So help me God."

The Archbishop wordlessly nodded at her and then took a step back, before nodding to the Archbishop of Halifax, who walked forward, holding a huge tome in his hands. Raising it up before the kneeling Elizabeth, showing that it was a full King James Bible, he declared, "Here is Wisdom; This is the royal Law; These are the lively Oracles of God."

Raising her hands in worship, Elizabeth kneeled still until the heavy book was gently placed into her hands, at which point the Archbishop took a step back, and Elizabeth sat back on the Chair of Estate, the Bible in her lap.

The Recognition and Oath done, the Archbishop of Halifax took his seat by the Archbishop of Harrisburg's chair, while the Archbishop of Harrisburg went behind the altar and began Mass.

Harry, from his place at the front of the northern annex benches, watched quietly as Mass was performed. He wasn't particularly religious himself, but having been raised a Loyalist, he was well-versed in Anglican religion. As such, he knew all the procedures and replies in Mass, but refusing to be a hypocrite, merely watched on in silence instead.

His silence endured all throughout the Holy Communion, during which he watched impassively as Elizabeth was given the Holy Eucharist, before the rest of the Cathedral partook in the ceremony.

Once the Holy Communion was over, Harry waited impassively until the Nicene Creed came. Then, he stood up with the rest of the congregation and waited in silence. Once the Nicene Creed was over, however, he made his way out of the benches and, in tandem with his previous three colleagues, went to the entrance of the Cathedral and waited for their part.

Elizabeth now stood up and, standing still, had her crimson robe removed, before being helped into the anointing gown. Once she was dressed, she then proceeded up to the elevated King Edward's Chair (saved from the Death Eaters by its custodians while it was in Canada for retouching), where she sat. Underneath her, the Stone of Scone was highly visible.

The Archbishop, for his part, nodded to four of Harry's highest ranking officers (Neville, Sharpe, Wolf, and the newly-appointed Air-Vice Marshall Elijah Shepard), who immediately got up from the benches and walked over to where a canopy was stored. Grabbing a pole each, they drew the canopy over Elizabeth as the Archbishop went to the altar and, taking the eagle-shaped ampulla, poured oil on the golden Anointment Spoon.

The Archbishop then turned back to Elizabeth and, walking up the steps of the dais, proceeded to anoint the new Sovereign on the forehead, her breast (through a small hole in her gown directly over her heart), and her face-upward palms.

Solemnly, the Archbishop then declared, "Blessed, art thou, Elizabeth; by the Grace of God, Chosen Sovereign over the Britannic People."

Nodding to two nearby servants, the Archbishop took a step back while the two servants moved forward and proceeded to enrobe her in the colobium sindonis and the supertunica.

Allen then moved in as the servants backed off the dais. Bowing low, he presented to her two golden spurs. "Your Majesty, here is chivalry; the heart of all sovereigns. Long may it symbolize your rule."

The Archbishop of Harrisburg moved in as Allen moved back off the dais. Accompanying him this time, however, were numerous bishops. In the Archbishop's hands was a golden sheath, in which lay a gold-encrusted sword, which he presented to Elizabeth.

"Your Majesty, here is the Sword of Mercy, by which you deliver mercy to the ailing and dying. Long may it symbolize your rule," declared the Archbishop. He was then passed another sword, similarly decorated. Raising it high, he proclaimed, "Your Majesty, here is the Sword of Spiritual Justice, by which you ensure the sanctity of the Kingdom of Heaven and protect it from danger. Long may it symbolize your rule." Another sword was passed to him. "Your Majesty, here is the Sword of Temporal Justice, by which you defend the Law, in all its forms, and protect the people you now lead. Long may it symbolize your rule."

Stepping back, the Archbishop waited as Elizabeth was further robed into the Robe Royal and Stole Royal, both on top of the supertunica. Once seated again, the Archbishop continued as he was passed a golden globe surmounted by a cross. Raising it high, he presented it to Elizabeth. "Your Majesty, here is the Orb, symbol of Our Saviour's rule over this Earth and symbol of Royal Piety. Long may it symbolize your rule."

Elizabeth solemnly took the Orb, only to pass it on to a nearby ecclesiastical, who promptly delivered it back to the altar.

The Archbishop now took a golden ring, which was surmounted by the relief of a golden lion, which was provided by a ruby, from a purple presentation pillow held up by one of the Bishops. Nodding to the man, the Archbishop turned to Elizabeth and held up the ring for all to see.

"Elizabeth, Chosen Sovereign of the Britannic People, do you accept to marry yourself, until such a day whence you shall depart for the Kingdom of Heaven, to the British Nation, and only to the British Nation?" he asked.

Elizabeth extended her left hand, lifting her ring finger slightly above the rest. Looking up at the Archbishop determinedly, she then said, "I do."

"So mote it be," declared the Archbishop as he placed the ring on her finger. The ring slid onto her ring finger smoothly—a perfect fit.

He now stepped back as he lifted both hands to his sides, making two Bishops walk up, each with one sceptre in hand. The one to the Archbishop's left moved forward and, bowing to Elizabeth, presented his sceptre, which was surmounted by a dove.

"Here is the Rod of Equity and Mercy, symbol of the Sovereign's Divine designation under the Cross," declared the Archbishop. "May you use it as the symbol of equality and mercy that it pays homage to."

Next moved up the Bishop on the right, holding up a sceptre surmounted with a cross, at the centre of which was the famed Cullinan I diamond.

"Here is the Rod of Saint Edward, symbol of Your Majesty's power on this Earth under the Cross. May you use it when fiends question your rule."

Taking it in her right hand, Elizabeth sat impassively (though she felt nerve-wrecked by now inside) as the final part of the ceremony was about to take place. She watched as the Archbishop backed up by one step, while the Bishops simply came off the dais, and gave her one last calculating look before turning towards the entrance and nodding.

There, Allen, Judge Beckett, Harry, and the Archbishop of Halifax were handed over a small wooden, purple-cushioned litter, upon which stood a small, ornate chest. On its lid stood a golden image of the British lion standing on its hind legs.

Each of the four men grabbed one of the handles that protruded from the litter and raised it high for all to see.

The four slowly proceeded down the aisle, with everyone either turning to look at the chest, or cranking their necks over the crowds in front to see the procession.

Eventually, the four reached the altar in the centre, and, dropping the litter to a chest high level, the acting Archbishop lifted the chest from the litter and placed it on the altar. There, he turned to receive a key from a close by priest, and unlocked the chest with a distinct _click_.

Slowly, the Archbishop lifted the lid and put both hands inside, before lifting up, for the whole congregation to see, the newly created Imperial Crown, modelled after the Imperial State Crown. Just as decorated as its predecessor, the Imperial Crown was one of the few lucky breaks the Empire had been given after its fall.

It so turned out that on the day of the fall, the custodians of the Crown Jewels decided to escape the country with them and turn them over to any resistance movement they found first. However, upon realizing the difficulty in carrying every Royal Jewel with them (including the highly cumbersome crowns), they simply took out every jewel placed on all of the crowns and, along with the sceptres, the orb, the ampulla, the spoon, and the sword, they fled the country, to reappear in Tybalt Staple's dominions months later.

There, and with the help of Sulu's own jewellers, the Imperial Crown was forged, encrusted with jewels from the other numerous crowns that had been in display at the Tower of London. However, the most prominent of the jewels remained the 317 carat Cullinan II diamond at the bottom centre of the crown, the Black Prince's Ruby, and St. Edward's Sapphire.

Holding it up high, he declared, "Here is the Crown, symbol of Imperial authority. Do any in this congregation deny its power?"

Shouts of "NO! NO! NO!" replied his query.

Satisfied, the Archbishop turned and, walking up the steps towards the throne, raised the crown over Elizabeth's head.

"Elizabeth, by the Grace of God and in the name of the British People, I, with the power invested in my person by Almighty God, do hereby crown you, Elizabeth the Third, Queen Sovereign of the British Empire, and Head of the Anglican Church," he declared as he placed the crown on her head. "God Save the Queen!" he declared as he got out of the way and turned towards the congregation.

Elizabeth closed her eyes as she felt the crown touch her head. So it was official now, she realized, as the Cathedral broke out in roars of "God Save the Queen!"; nothing would ever be the same.

Gone, was the old Elizabeth Black.

She was now Elizabeth III.

Queen of the British Empire.

* * *

_AN: There! One more chapter to go and that's it for Rebirth! Also, if anyone in my reader base actually got to see the coronation of Elizabeth II, I must warn you, Marquis will be very jealous. In his (and mine, incidentally) mind, it's probably one of the most beautiful and moving ceremonies ever performed. Of course, this is deducted through reading, so we wouldn't actually know, but we stand by that view._


	15. Chapter XV: To Forge an Empire

_Panama City, Panama_

The Potter family was having dinner when Maximilian, panting from exertion and red-faced, barrelled into the dining room, having just come home from work.

"You're never going to believe this!" he cried out as he burst into the room. The shock was so great and sudden that little Sarah began to cry. Ginny immediately went to her daughter, casting a deadly glare at her brother-in-law.

"What's wrong, Max?" asked Alexandra as she got up just as quickly as he'd entered the room.

Maximilian, however, didn't seem worried. If anything, he seemed…giddy. In fact, the only other times Alexandra had seen him this excited was when he had a new invention in mind or when they were engaged in more…private activities.

"What happened?" asked James. "Did the Death Eaters win a battle?"

Max shook his head rapidly. "Of course not! This isn't bad news! This is good news!"

"Sure doesn't look like it," commented Sirius as he looked at the red-faced aristocrat. "You look as if you're about to have a stroke."

Realizing the impression he must have made, Maximilian blushed in embarrassment and apologized to Sarah, who was still sniffling, and whose mother was giving him her patented Glare of Doom.

Eventually, when he managed to regain his composure, he gave the family a huge smile. "I've got the best news," he crowed.

Remus rolled his eyes. "Yes, we've gathered that much, Max. Why don't you actually tell us what it _is_?"

Max shook his head. "I've got a better idea. How about I show you?"

"Is this another invention of yours?" asked Lily worriedly as she glanced at Sarah who, despite her initial scare, was now looking curiously at her uncle.

"Max, _please_ tell me you didn't just interrupt the delicate and all-important ritual of feeding for another one of your inventions…" moaned Matthew, who gained an agreeable and solemn nod from his father.

Max shook his head. "This isn't my doing, I assure you of that," he assured them. "But it's still the best news we've heard in years."

James looked at him sceptically. "Max, the only news that would rate that high for us would be to know Harry's still alive and that we had recaptured Great Britain."

Max' grin faltered slightly at this. "Well, I can't deliver on either, but I've got something just as good,"

"What do you mean?"

Max grinned widely now. "How does a new Queen sound?"

As soon as the implications of that statement hit, several things happened.

James fainted.

Lily screamed.

Sirius swore.

Remus goggled.

Alexandra gaped.

Ginny cried in happiness.

And little Sarah, not knowing what was going on, decided to emulate her grandmother and screamed at the top of her lungs.

* * *

Cheers broke out throughout the entire British Sector as the televised event broadcasted Elizabeth's crowning. 

In the Potter home, the men whooped (with the exception of Joachim, who simply grinned ecstatically) at the return of the Empire, while the women cried in joy, partly due to the Empire's return, and partly from seeing Harry alive and well.

Expatriated British citizens took to the streets, waving Union Jacks in the air of varying sizes as they celebrated with one another the return of their presumed-defunct civilization. Even those natives sympathetic to the British people's plight celebrated the coronation.

It got to such a point that the Confederate government, in a simply precautionary move, deployed more policemen to those areas celebrating, as well as reinforced their _Policía Contra-Magia_ (Counter-Magic Police) force around the British Separatist sectors, where they feared the coronation would be taken in an outraged fashion.

* * *

_Sydney, Australia_

Even as shells exploded over the city as the Americans and Death Eaters tried to bomb the Asian Loyalist League capital city into submission, its citizens took to the streets in celebration as the televised coronation was broadcast on every television and radio set in the ALL, AIM, and all neutral and/or allied nation of the British.

At the front lines, the footmen of the ALL roared in approval as they heard every single part of the ceremony, shouting louder in approval when Elizabeth swore to return their lost homes to the British people.

As they did, a group of four soldiers, rapidly coming under fire, ventured outside of their trenches and went to the flagpole, where they took down the ALL flag and hoisted the Union Jack. Unfortunately, for their patriotism, the four men were quickly brought down by spell fire.

With renewed vigour and fury, the ALL soldiers took to the trenches and gave the Americans and Death Eaters a _really_ bad day in what was coming to be a 2-year-long siege.

* * *

_Pretoria, South Africa_

Cheers broke out in the streets when the crown touched the head of Elizabeth. It was a day where any remaining ethnic troubles ended, as both the light-skinned and dark-skinned segments of society rejoiced together in the return of the their beloved Empire. Gone were the days of mindless, irrational hatred between rightful brothers in arms and culture. Black and White mingled freely in jubilation as British Union Jacks were waved, in every size and shape, along the streets and from ivory balconies.

Hats were thrown in the air as jolly old men laughed happily at the return of a society they understood, and young men and women danced and cheered as they were swept into the patriotic furor of the British refugees.

At the top of the African Imperial League Headquarters in the middle of Pretoria, the crowd watched, amidst cheering, as the AIM flag was brought down and replaced with a magnificent and huge Union Jack.

* * *

_Kyoto, Japan_

Conversation ceased in the Imperial Throne Room as an aide rushed inside and announced the event going on at Harrisburg. With a clipped order, a TV was brought in and tuned into the appropriate channel, where Elizabeth could be seen walking down the main aisle towards the altar.

Narrowing his eyes, the Emperor demanded to know the reliability of the televised content, and it was soon confirmed that the events being broadcast were true. The Emperor narrowed his eyes at the event, but smiled eventually in approval as Elizabeth took her vows.

In rapid Japanese, the Emperor ordered a scribe to be brought in, determined to write a letter of congratulations to his fellow monarch.

After all, he never did like the Americans' allies much.

* * *

Rejoice wasn't the only emotion being felt towards the coronation, however. In New Avalon (as Britain had been renamed), it was fury that received the news of the coronation of the new British Monarch. In fact, within the evil walls of Slytherin Fortress, in the middle of the capital, the Inner Circle of the Death Eaters was being berated by the Council. 

"Fools!" hissed the Council's avatar, a poor man called Gregory Evans. "How did the bastard whore manage to escape?" he demanded, his normal voice replaced by the conglomeration of voices of the Council.

Lucius Malfoy grovelled low as the avatar's eyes turned to him. "My Lords, Jugson was in command of that detention facility," pleaded the blonde aristocrat. "The fault lies with him, though he was killed in the Imperial raid."

"There should have been no raid!" screamed the avatar. "It was in the middle of the American homeland! How did you not stop them?"

The Inner Circle (minus Jugson) flinched at the avatar's demands. Avery stepped forward at this and bowed low.

"My Lords, we do not know how they managed to pass through the American defences, but if I may point out something?" he suggested. The avatar glared at him (made all the more intimidating by the fact that the spell used on the avatar made his eyes milky white) but nodded.

Sighing in relief, Avery ploughed on. "My Lords, the Americans have long refused to integrate themselves further with us, citing their own ability as an excuse to keep our two factions separate."

"We know this, Avery," growled the avatar.

Nodding quickly, Avery continued. "Yes, my Lords, but what I'm suggesting is that perhaps we can use this situation to our advantage?"

"Explain."

"Well, the Americans have failed, my Lords. They failed to protect a detention facility which you, yourselves have stated is in the midst of their homeland. If the Americans cannot even defend their own homes, how can we entrust them with our flank?"

Lucius nodded as an evil gleam came to life in his eyes. "To add onto Avery's suggestion, my Lords, perhaps it is time for the Americans to relinquish control over the new Juggernaut Cannons."

Avery nodded quickly. "As well as the necessary factories to build our own Assault Ships."

"My Lords, I must protest!" cried out Bellatrix as she glared at the two aristocrats. The avatar turned his white eyes to her. "We should not be even thinking of using these abominations! They are an insult to our culture!"

"An insult that vaporized Nott, remember?" hissed Lucius.

"Nott was a fool!" riposted Bellatrix Lestrange, "And he died while using these…abominations of nature!"

"Power is power!" shot Avery.

"Bellatrix is right!" countered Rodolphus Lestrange. "We must not corrupt ourselves by using these freaks of nature! The Dark Lord would never have condoned it!"

"The Dark Lord respected power, brother," noted Rabastan Lestrange.

"Bah!" put in Macnair. "Give me an wand over one of those cannons any day!"

"And what of Serpent Fortress?" demanded Augustus Rookwood. "The Imperials barely had to do anything after they pulverized the defences with their cannons!"

"Lack of preparation!" snapped Igor Karkaroff.

"We had _eight hundred_ of our _best_!" cried out Rabastan incredulously. "How is that _possibly_ lack of preparation?"

"Enough"

The arguing died out immediately as all turned to look at the avatar, who seemed somewhat amused at their bickering.

"What Lucius and Avery have said is true," stated the avatar. "Power is power. We, who knew the Dark Lord personally, could testify that he would have wanted this."

"But my Lords—"

"CRUCIO!" snapped the avatar as he pointed his wand at Bellatrix, who screamed in pain as the Cruciatus Curse hit her.

"Do not question us, Bellatrix!" growled the avatar as he let go of the curse, leaving Bellatrix panting on the floor from pain. "We may not be as merciless as the Dark Lord, but insubordination will_not_ be tolerated, understood?"

"Y-Yes, my lords…" whimpered Bellatrix.

Nodding, the avatar continued. "Good. Now, as we were saying…Avery! Malfoy!"

"Yes, my lords?" asked the two aristocrats.

"You will travel to the American homeland and order them to hand over the technology for the Juggernaut and the Assault Ships as reparations for the loss of our men who died when they were unable to protect their own land."

"We live to serve," intoned Lucius as both men bowed low.

Sneering, the avatar dismissed them with a wave. "Go."

The two aristocrats bowed once more before turning and leaving the room, shooting Bellatrix's puritan faction smirks. Rodolphus glared at them as Karkaroff and Macnair slumped their shoulders slightly in defeat, while Bellatrix moaned from the pain.

* * *

_AN: And that's it for Rebirth! This chapter, as you can tell, was more of a "post-Coronation reactions" chapter than anything. "Empire's War" will sadly not be ready for expected launch in two days. With any luck, however, it should be ready soon._

_Also, Marquis wishes to remind everyone that he is still looking for help in building his Wiki site for his original fiction story, which he hasn't begun writing yet, but has started outlining the history._

_Cheers,_

_The Little Duke._

_PS: Due to the possibility of similar incoming reviews, Marquis has asked me to say the following: Ginny and Harry will not reunite in this (Rebirth) particular installment. She is in Panama, and he is in New Britannia, devoting himself to the Empire. By the end of this chapter, however, she does know where he is, and will seek him out. However, no official communication links exist between the outside world and New Britannia, so they cannot communicate directly. Furthermore, communications between the Confederacy and New Britannia is one-sided, with New Britannia sending in communiqués, not the other way around, so she cannot send in messages. All she can do is wait and hope for a moment where she will be able to send him a message._

_As I've told a reviewer, "Empire's War" will deal with the reuniting of the Potters with Harry. This includes Ginny. He will also become aware of his daughter's existence. However, as previously stated, "War" isn't ready yet, and so will take a bit more time to complete. _


End file.
